Gluttony
by Hella Jelena
Summary: "Doctor! We must leave now, or we, you and I, will die!" Spock was actually reasoning with him, but McCoy sensed he was only half a rational thought away from being nerve-pinched to unconsciousness. And Spock was a very rational guy.
1. Prologue

Star Trek doesn' t belong to me.

This is part 4 of my idea of the end of Kirk's first five year mission. The previous parts being "Pride", "Sloth" and "Envy". As a mindful observer you have realized by now that these are three of the seven deadly sins, therefore you can anticipate 4 more parts, "Gluttony" being one of them. :-)

I'd like to thank all of my readers, especially all of you who have taken the time to review my stories. You have kept me writing.

Gluttony - It is considered one of the seven deadly sins - a misplaced desire of food or its withholding from the needy. (Wikipedia)

**Gluttony**

Spock was about to disobey an order from Starfleet Command. If he were human he would find a euphemism for his insubordination in an attempt to not only soothe his own conscience, but to plot a strategy for the court-martial that was certain to follow - "misunderstanding", "misinterpretation", or "misapprehension".

"I am a Vulcan," Spock said to the light of the single candle in his quarters to end his contemplation, as if this would solve all moral problems he had encountered during the ten minutes he had retreated to his quarters to decide on his next actions. He'd made a decision, the only possible decision. It was illogical to deceive himself about its nature or its consequences. And he wouldn't lie in front of the court-martial that was sure to follow, claiming ignorance on the fact that the mission he was going to command was contradictory to the order to not interfere with Meriahni affairs.

_Meriahni affairs_. Velal, their Romulan passenger on board, a spy, and normally an enemy, but in this particular mission an ally, had said that these "affairs" were not solely confined to Meriah Five but were also Romulan and Vulcan affairs. And since a member of the Enterprise's crew was trapped in a Meriahni prison during an uprising, it was _his_ affair as well. As first officer it was his duty to anticipate the wishes of his captain and act accordingly. And Jim Kirk, had he been fit for command, would not have left him there. Would he?

_You are doing it. You're trying to justify your decision. Why Spock? Because it is an illogical one? _The Vulcan heard McCoy's amused voice in his mind, arguing. And he couldn't help but to argue back. _It depends on one's moral standards, doctor. I believe in some situations loyalty and ... friendship outweigh obedience._

Certainly the doctor would have something to say to_ that_, Spock thought. But he couldn't waste any more time with this inner dialogue. Not if same dialogue partner in real life was in mortal danger.

Spock activated the comm. "Mr. Scott, Lieutenant Uhura, Mr. Sulu and Mr. Chekov, please meet me in the conference room as soon as possible. Spock out."


	2. Chapter 1

_3 days earlier ..._

Kirk was in the conference room talking to Prime Minister Coltan of Meriah Five. He could tell the minister was not too happy to see the Enterprise back in his planet's orbit, however, he seemed to be more cooperative than the last time he remembered talking to him. _Guilt is a good motivator, _Kirk thought. He wouldn't hesitate to remind Coltan of the brutal attack of his Secretary of Defense, Delihan, on Dr. McCoy, if he thought it could get him closer to his aim of finding more information about Tamulok, the Romulan Commander, and Tal Shiar agent, and his whereabouts. "You are obsessed with that man," Bones had told him, and Spock had agreed, although he hadn't said anything then, but Kirk knew anyway.

He didn't quite know himself why he so feared Tamulok, but he did. He just knew that the Romulan was planning something. He was dangerous. Maybe it was because Tamulok seemed to have an aura that made him seem quite likeable at first glance. People were compelled to trust him. Kirk had been fooled as well, until Tamulok had killed dozens of people in a bar and kidnapped Spock and himself.

"He just ruffled your ego, and you want revenge!" Bones had further argued. He was usually right about things like that, but in this case, Kirk had a feeling that Tamulok was an actual threat to the delicate peace in the whole quadrant. Ironically, only Velal, _another _Romulan spy, and resident of the Enterprise's brig at this very moment, seemed to share his concerns.

"We do not know _where_ that Romulan is, Captain. In fact there are no Romulans _at all _on Meriah. Why do you think he has _reason_ to be here?"

Kirk was almost certain now that Coltan was lying. But he had to be careful to not let it show. He didn't want to provoke him. Coltan was willing to begin negotiations with Federation diplomats and Kirk did not want to destroy that. He smiled. "It was just a guess, Prime Minister. Actually, ..." Kirk schooled his face into a mask of uncertainty, "there is something else I want to talk about."

Coltan's expression seemed to show relief and curiosity. "What is it?"

"Well, ..." Kirk had hoped that he would be able to get to the information without using his last ace up the sleeve, but now he had no choice. "May I ask what happened to Secretary Delihan?"

"He was sentenced to life in one of our labor camps, for assault, treason and abuse of authority," the Prime Minister said, then added: "I hope your Dr. McCoy is able to find at least some consolation in that."

Kirk cringed mentally. Bones actually did not care _what_ happened or had happened to Delihan, he just wanted to forget the mind rape. Unfortunately, if Kirk's plans worked out, McCoy would have to face his tormentor once again.

"Yes, about that. Prime Minister, we are very thankful that you have acted in the name of justice in that affair, although the offender was a high official in your government. Such behaviour is anything but granted."

Coltan seemed to grow a few centimetres. Kirk could tell he'd liked what he'd heard. "Well, captain. On Meriah, all people are equal before the law. And what Delihan did is certainly against our law."

"Yes. But as I said, I know many governments that would have covered up any crime of its members."

"Not on Meriah."

"I am glad. And so is Dr. McCoy."

"I hope he is alright."

"Well, he does have some difficulties with coming to terms with the whole incident," Kirk said, observing Coltan closely.

"I'm sorry to hear that. As I said, he might find some consolation in knowing that justice has been served."

Kirk nodded slowly and almost smiled. He was going to achieve his goal. "It may. ... Prime Minister, in our world it is custom that after an offender in a trial has been sentenced, the victim is allowed to see and talk to the convict. It often helps to give them some kind of gratification."

Coltan imperceptibly raised an eyebrow. "Oh? You mean revenge?"

_Oops_, Kirk still had to be careful. "No, not revenge. As you said, it just gives the victim some kind of consolation to see for himself that justice has been served. Also, it may help to understand the motives of a person. It is considered to be healing in the whole process of digesting such an act of violence. But of course, that's just our system. I've found that on other worlds an offender's interests often outweigh the interests of the victim. It is a matter of opinion, I guess."

Coltan's eyebrow had come down again, but now it seemed to be too low. Kirk waited. He just hoped he had been reading the guy correctly. Not all species used the same body language of course.

"Does Dr. McCoy want to talk to Delihan?"

Kirk bowed his head in relief. "It would mean a lot to him."

"Alright. He has the permission to visit Delihan in the prison and labor camp of Prolia tomorrow morning."

"That is very kind of you, Prime Minister. We do appreciate your courtesy. Will he have to come alone, all by himself?"

Coltan sighed and his shoulders sagged which made Kirk think that Meriahni body language was not so different after all.

"If he wishes, you can accompany him. However, you must realize that this is an exception made only out of courtesy. Normally, aliens are not allowed outside our capital and government district. Our people do not wish to come into contact with outworlders. It is not xenophobia, it is _our_ custom."

"Of course. And thank you again, Prime Minister."

o0o

When Kirk had ended the conversation with Meriahn's Prime Minister Coltan, he absentmindedly chewed the inside of his lip. So far, so good. Delihan had been on Tamulok's ship. He probably knew more about him. Maybe he even had an idea about where he might be at the moment. Kirk was fairly sure that he would be willing to tell them, especially when they told him that Tamulok had destroyed his own ship with all of his crew, including Delihan's daughter.

There was just one thing that bothered him. McCoy. He had to come with Kirk into the labor camp, otherwise Kirk's explanation of why he had to see and talk to Delihan would be of no use. And Bones would not be thrilled.


	3. Chapter 2

"I believe her sister's death has affected Dr. Pulliam more seriously than she wants to admit," Christine Chapel told McCoy in his office.

"Why do you think so?" McCoy asked her, cursing himself for not having talked to Pulliam before. He just hadn't had the time.

"I've seen her ...," Chapel realized that what she was about to say would irritate McCoy, but she didn't care at this point. "She talks to herself."

"Oh? If that makes someone unfit for duty, Nurse, then I should have been relieved of duty at least five years ago."

"But it is uncharacteristical behaviour for _her_. She was always very stable, disciplined and alert. Now, she seems to be daydreaming all the time, mumbling things only she understands."

"Is it affecting her work?"

"No. But I do believe she is showing symptoms of PTSD."

"And what are you, _Nurse_, a counsellor?"

Christine exhaled. "No, doctor, I'm _just_ a nurse. But other than you, I've been on board this ship for the past 5 days." She argued a little louder than necessary. Maybe she _was_ overreacting, but the way McCoy had stressed her profession, thus pointing out he was better qualified, suddenly irritated her. She wanted to say something else, but McCoy beat her to it.

"Sorry, Christine," his voice softened, "actually you're the best nurse I ever worked with, and I do trust your judgement more than that of some of my colleagues. I will talk to Dr. Pulliam, planned to do it anyway." They turned when the door opened and the captain entered.

Christine smiled, but also felt uneasiness crawl up inside her. She didn't look forward to telling her boss about her plans. Although in a way, he himself had just encouraged her further.

"Bones, Christine," Kirk beamed at them, slightly bowing his head in greeting.

"Hello, captain!" Christine answered, and with a nod, left the room. Kirk was most charming, when he wanted something from his friend, Christine thought, and before the door closed she heard her boss ask gruffly: "Whaddaya want?"

He swallowed. Was he that easy to read? Well, if he wanted to hide something from McCoy of course, he had to try harder.

"You know we're in orbit of Meriah Five, right?"

"Yes. Because you want to find that Romulan, for reasons I don't quite understand. But if you ask me, if I were Tamulok, I would go back to that planet Spock claims is Vor-Ka-Ri, take whatever I want and then leave. Why go back to Meriah Five?"

"I thought you thought it was Vor-Ka-Ri, as well?" Kirk asked his friend who had earned himself the reputation of an archaeologist on Vulcan, for finding a world that played an important role in Vulcan and Romulan mythology.

"I'm a doctor. Not some kind of Vulcan Indiana Jones," McCoy grumbled.

"You're just trying to avoid giving a speech in front of the Vulcan Science Academy," he teased.

"Jim, I hate to repeat myself, but: What do you want?"

Jim sighed. "I believe Tamulok is on that planet. He needs equipment or supplies, maybe a different ship and some helpers before he can dig in the ruins. I know you and Spock think I'm obsessed with that guy, but my gut tells me, that he is extremely dangerous. We must stop him."

"So, you follow you're gut feeling on this? No wonder Spock disagrees."

"All the more wonder _you_ disagree as well," Kirk said grinning.

"Well, I ... . What does it matter? You're the captain, you can do whatever you want."

"Not quite. Coltan is not willing to let us search for Tamulok."

McCoy squinted his eyes. "I believe that doesn't stop you."

"Well, that depends. We can't beam on the planet or scan it undetectedly. But we might be able to find out more information about Tamulok from a Meriahn who should know Tamulok quite well."

"You mean Secretary Delihan," McCoy said, and Kirk mentally cursed when he heard a slight waver in McCoy's voice when he spoke that name.

"Yes. Bones, this is a request, not an order: Delihan is a convict in a labor camp. Coltan agreed to let you and me visit him to talk to him. I told him it was a Federation custom, that the ... victim of a crime seeks gratification in visiting the ... offender in prison, to see that justice has been served. Now, you just would have to accompany me. I'll talk to him. I think I can convince him to tell me all about Tamulok, especially when I tell him that his daughter was killed on the ship when Tamulok told us to shoot at it." He watched McCoy closely.

"I see. I'm your ticket to some information, you think might help us prevent another war with the Romulans."

Basically it was correct, but he had tried to formulate it a little less pressurizing. "As I said Bones, it is not an order, it is a request."

"Right. If I say no, and then Tamulok turns out to become another Adolf Hitler, it will be my fault."

"Bones, I told you the truth. What more can I do?"

"I'm getting too old for this. _Yes_, I'll accompany you to that prison, labor camp, whatever. But really, Jim, I'm getting tired. When our mission ends, I hope I'll get an assignment that is less ... traumatizing," he smiled on the last word, winking, but Jim knew his words held some truth. Even though McCoy seemed to have gotten over the mind rape, he believed it still had damaged some inner part of his soul. Unfortunately that was a place that McCoy did not let anyone see, except himself. Maybe not even himself.

"Thank you, Bones. We'll leave tomorrow morning. You might want to rest until then."

"Rest? Well, Jim, I don't know how these Meriahn run their labor camps, but in my experience places like that are almost always full of epidemics, plagues, and pestilences. I must cook up something that is able to protect us from the most deadliest diseases. Vaccines? Maybe an immune stimulator."

Kirk nodded. "Sounds good. Thanks Bones."

And he left sickbay, thinking about what Bones had said about the end of their mission. The five years were almost over now, and he did not like thinking about the day when they would return home. No that was wrong, he looked forward to returning home, he just didn't look forward to the days after_ that_ day. It unsettled him to think that the people who had become his family in the past 5 years would go into different directions, leaving him to ... to do what? He had no idea what to do after that. He hoped to go on another mission, with the Enterprise. On the other hand, the Enterprise wouldn't be the same with another crew.


	4. Chapter 3

_Present_

Spock looked around the conference room and tried to understand the motives of those he had asked to meet him here. They were all Starfleet officers with exceptional knowledge and skills in their fields, as he had often witnessed during the years he'd been serving among them. Each of them would go on making an exceptional career when their five year mission on the Enterprise had ended.

However, they all had decided to risk this career, just as he had done.

"Lieutenant Commander Scott, Lieutenant Uhura, Lieutenant Sulu, Ensign Chekov, you have made clear that you are willing to disregard Starfleet's direct orders of not interfering with the Meriahni government's plans to destroy the Prolia prison complex where Dr. McCoy is currently being held hostage. However, since it is illogical for all of us risking our career, it will be me who takes full responsibility as your commanding officer. When you'll be questioned about this, you will say that you were merely following orders."

"Get on with it, Spock, what's the plan?" Scotty said, thinking that they would talk about this again when the task at hand was accomplished.

"Commander, after having seen and heard what's happening on that planet, I believe we're all happy to disregard the orders of Starfleet Command," Uhura said, thinking about the pictures from the labor camp she had channeled onto the bridge's main screen.

"That's right. The Meriahn are barbarians, Mr Spock. We can't just watch, and do nothing," Chekov said.

"The Meriahni society is highly evolved, Mr Chekov. Its traditions and culture have lasted for approximately 2000 years, during which time there have been no wars. None of your earth cultures have lasted that long. You call them barbaric, judging from your own limited perspective as a human from earth's 23rd century," Spock lectured the young ensign.

"Maybe there were no wars in the last 2000 years, but only because over 80 per cent of the population have been deprived of their free will," Sulu said.

"That is correct. However, it is by your own moral standard that you regard the individual's free will as higher than the individual's life."

"Yes, we do. Many of our ancestors were willing to die for their freedom."

"And many of your ancestors died for a monarch, a dictator, or a deity, Mr Sulu. The societies that you regard as the great ancient advanced civilisations, like the Romans, the Mayas, or the Egyptians, were based on similar ideologies as those of the Meriahni society."

"But we have evolved in the last 2000 years, there's stagnation on Meriah," Sulu further argued.

"I believe this discussion leads us nowhere. I have decided to intervene, for other reasons, Mr Sulu. My opinion of whether the societal structure on Meriah Five should be preserved or overthrown is ultimately irrelevant."

Scotty saw Uhura who was sitting opposite of him smile. Of course Spock's decision to disregard that stupid order and rescue Dr. McCoy had nothing to do with freeing the slaves of Meriah, although Scott himself regarded it as a positive sideaffect, Prime Directive or no. But considering the strange relationship Spock and McCoy were demonstrating on a daily basis aboard this ship, he had expected Spock to at least try and justify his insubordination with something other than wanting to rescue a dear friend's life.

Spock raised an eyebrow at Uhura, then continued: "I believe that under these circumstances it is necessary to inform you about my priorities in this mission - and that is Dr. McCoy's life. I admit it is a very selfish and arguably illogical motive, however, I also believe that the reason you volunteered to assist me is the same. Am I correct?"

Scott let his mouth fall open. Now _that_ had quieted them all. Spock had just admitted that he wanted to rescue McCoy, simply because _he_ would miss him if he didn't, had he not? Well, it may be true that Vulcans really _are_ unable to lie.

"Aye," Scott nodded, as did his comrades.

"Good. Then we know what we must concentrate on. Mr Scott have you yet found a way for our transporter to penetrate the energy shield of Prolia?" Spock said, seemingly unaware of the astonished looks the crew was giving him.

"No. There's nothing I can do from here. If I were in that room with Leonard, I could deactivate the field, simply by cutting it off from it's power source. If only our places were reversed ... I could probably free myself, and he could help the captain," Scott mumbled, frustrated.

"There's no use in thinking about the 'what ifs', Mr Scott. If we cannot penetrate it with our transporter, is it possible to pass through it by shuttle?"

"If one knew the access codes - yes," Sulu said, "Meriahni shuttles have passed through the shield."

"That was before the state of emergency was officially declared," Uhura, who had been monitoring the prison complex for the past three days, said. "Now, the energy field is impenetrable ... no one is able to get in and certainly no one is able to get out. From the information I've gathered over the communication channels they've set the shield into a mode that produces oscillations that in 5 hours and 32 minutes will cause the atmosphere within the prison to ignite. Everyone in Prolia will be burned alive."

Chekov shuddered. What kind of government would do such a thing to its own people?

"These oscillations, Ensign, how are they generated?"

"They are using a special algorithm, a repeating pattern of energy bursts that builds up in intensity until it finally ends in an inferno," Chekov said, picturing 12,000 people breathing in burning air, while blue flashes of electricity made their bodies jerk painfully, as the muscles in their bodies were activated up until and beyond their bodies' agonizing death. He shuddered.

"Am I correct in the assumption that this algorithm diverts energy to some areas of the shield, resulting in an almost complete loss of energy in other areas?"

"Yes! Mr Spock, with the correct algorithm, we should be able to predict for how long and in which areas the shield would be weak enough to pass through with one of our shuttles," Chekov smiled. They could take advantage of the Meriahn's plan to set the whole place on fire.

Scott did not like where this idea was going. "But Mr Spock! At the moment the energy shield, even in its weakest areas, is much too strong to be penetrated by one of our shuttles. We'd have to wait until the oscillations have become strong enough to divert almost all of the shield's energy from its weak areas. By then the oscillations will be too fast to fly through. The shuttle would be cut in half."

"Not if we plot a course for the shuttle that follows the energy flow diagonally. We should be through the shield before it builds up again," Sulu said excitedly.

"But you won't have enough time, laddie. Five, maybe ten minutes later the shield will overload and the whole place will be on fire. That's hardly enough time to find the doctor, get him in the shuttle, find another weak spot in the shield and escape before you'll all be burned alive," Scotty argued.

"Mr Scott, I thought you said that once you were where the doctor is now, you'd be able to deactivate the shield. I believe that I could accomplish just that, if you'd instruct me before I left," Spock said calmly.

Scotty's brow furrowed. "Well, I ... I am convinced that I could do it, Mr Spock. Hadn't thought of that. I just need to get in, but I don't need to get out again. I'll just turn the bloody thing off! Then I can take my time to get McCoy and myself back to the shuttle and we'll comfortably return to the Enterprise."

"You'll need a good pilot to get through the shield, Scotty. I'll be happy to fly the shuttle. I've always dreamt about racing lightning," Sulu smiled. "It really shouldn't be too hard."

"We could program the ..."

"Gentlemen," Spock interrupted their enthusiasm, "_I_ will go. However, I will depend on your help. Mr Sulu, Mr Chekov, you need to calculate not only _where_ but also _when_ the shuttle will be able to penetrate the shield. When you've accomplished that, I need you to program the autopilot with the respective data. Mr Scott, you must instruct me on how "to shut the bloody thing off", Lieutenant Uhura, I need you to give me the exact plan of the prison complex and the coordinates of where McCoy is being held."

"Mr Spock. It would be a lot easier if you let me ...," Scotty started.

"Mr Scott, I think I've made myself clear. As I said, this mission is _my_ responsibility. We still need to get through Meriah's atmosphere without being detected and held off by Meriahni aircrafts."

"We could modify the shuttle's impulse signature so that it looks like a Meriahni freighter," Chekov said.

"That should raise their suspicion as well. All air traffic in Prolia's vicinity has been forbidden, and no violation against that no-fly zone has been recorded in the last 24 hours," Uhura said.

"Nyota," Scotty joked, "you seem to be well informed about everything that's going on on that planet. You'd make a wonderful spy."

"Or hacker, wouldn't you, Lieutenant?" Spock asked, looking questioningly at her, "Nothing has been recorded in the past 24 hours?"

"No. I have recorded the surveillance."

"Indeed. I believe those recordings would make an interesting movie clip for Meriahni officials."

Uhura smiled. "I'll make sure that they get to see it within the next hours, Mr Spock."

"Good. Then I suggest we all start working on our tasks," Spock said, rising from his chair. Uhura and Sulu got up and left to begin their work.

"What if they look out of the window?" Chekov asked, half out of the door.

"I believe, Mr Chekov, that that's a risk we will have to take," Spock answered and watched the Ensign leave the room.

"Yes, Mr Spock, _you_ take the risk. And if you fail, I will be left in command of the Enterprise, with no first officer, no chief medical officer and ... no captain," Scotty mumbled quietly after Chekov had left.

"That may be true, Mr Scott. In that case, leave orbit at once and go directly to Starbase 3. They have medical facilities there, that are able to help Captain Kirk."

"Yes. And then, I'm going to be the one to tell him that both of ye are dead."

Spock nodded slowly. "I trust that will be ... difficult. However, I assure you that I'm not taking "the easy way out", as Dr McCoy would call it. It is illogical to risk more than one person for this kind of mission. While I trust you to be able to shut off that shield, and Mr Sulu to fly the shuttle, I only trust myself to fulfill both tasks. Therefore, I am the logical choice for this mission."

"Spock. There may be another problem. I'm not sure if you've thought about it."

"What is that, Mr Scott?"

"Doctor McCoy."

Spock raised an eyebrow. "I believe he is the reason why we're planning this mission. What 'problem' does he present?"

"He may not want to be rescued," Scotty said, watching Spock's face that for once showed emotions - first surprise, then realization and finally, fear.

"I have to admit, he is somewhat like an unknown variable. Do you think it is possible that he'd refuse to be rescued?"

"I do," Scotty nodded sadly, "he has lived among these poor Meriahni slaves for two days now. He feels compassion for them, Spock, you know our doctor! He's in pretty bad shape too, physically as well as mentally. I just don't know. Spock, you have to be convincing!"

Spock nodded, "Mr Scott, I believe I have got one very good argument on my side."

"Captain Kirk," Scotty said sadly, but relieved that Spock had found an argument that would surely make McCoy step into that shuttle.

"Yes."


	5. Chapter 4

_Two days before_

Prolia was not what Kirk had expected. It wasn't the horrible dungeon he had imagined when Coltan had mentioned the prison / labour camp where Meriah's worst criminals and political prisoners were being detained. In fact, it did not look like a prison at all. There were no visible security measures, no energy fields, no bars or chains, not even guards. They had passed what looked like farmhouses with pasture land, where camel-like animals that looked vaguely familiar grazed peacefully. Then they stepped into a conveyor cage that brought them down into the dilithium mine, where many of the convicts worked, including Delihan. It was not exactly friendly, but efficient and relatively clean. The man who accompanied them to take them to Delihan was ... quiet, stoical. He reminded him of Spock, but then again that wasn't fair. Spock was always the scientist, interested in his surroundings, but this guy seemed to be absolutely indifferent, like a robot. McCoy had exchanged a surprised look with Kirk when they had been introduced to their guide. The man did not wear the headgear that the Meriahn they had met before wore, as did none of the convicts, therefore one could see his pointy ears. At least in his outward appearance he was similar to their first officer.

As they were walking along the adits of the dilithium mine, Kirk walked deliberately close to McCoy so that their shoulders were touching from time to time. It was an attempt to give him some strength and support. He still felt bad for making McCoy accompany him to meet Delihan, the man who had forced a mind melt on him. McCoy was uncharactaristically withdrawn and quiet. _I promised him a trip to Yosemite or Risa and now, look where we are_, Kirk thought as they passed a group of Meriahn who sat on the floor, drawing a pink viscous liquid from a tap in the wall and then downing it with a blank stare on their faces. Kirk shuddered. These prisoners didn't seem to be subjected to open violence, but he was sure that they had gone through some kind of mental mistreatment if Kirk was reading the resigned expression on their faces correctly.

They met another group of people, pushing huge antigrav mining carts piled with rocks along a trail, without sparing them a glance.

"This is the room where you will wait," their guide said, opening a door and hitting his toe with a loud noise in the process.

Kirk grimaced and felt Bones beside him shudder at the noise of metal hitting bone.

"Sit down. Delihan will be there shortly," the man said in his calm, detached voice, and left.

The room was simple. Three chairs and a table, nothing more. Kirk tried to scrutinize his friend as inconspiciously as possible, knowing that he couldn't fool McCoy. But Bones seemed relaxed enough, taking a chair, looking up at the harsh, white, bluish light on the ceiling, and didn't seem to notice Kirk's gaze, which made Kirk worry all the more.

"What do you make of this prison?" he asked to fight his own growing unease.

McCoy didn't say anything, but turned to look at Kirk, his brow creased, his eyes sparkling excitedly. It wasn't the troubled, brooding look he had dreaded to find in McCoy's face. _He's trying to solve some kind of mystery_, Kirk thought.

The door opened and former Secretary of Defense Delihan stepped in. Kirk heard Bones take in a shocked breath, but if it was from the terror of remembering the mind rape or from surprise about Delihan's appearance, Kirk didn't know. _He_ sure as hell was shocked by his appearance. Delihan didn't wear the headgear he had worn before, which made his head seem so much smaller. His face was grey and gaunt, his expression blank and together with his pointy ears he seemed like Rumpelstiltskin from the fairy tale, after the princess told him his name, just before he ripped himself in two in a fit of rage. He was ... deflated, blank, limp. For a moment he felt compassion, but then, he reminded himself about what Delihan had done and with a glance at McCoy who had found his countenance again, he cleared his throat and stared Delihan into his dead eyes.

"Delihan. I'm sure you remember us," Kirk started, not knowing how to get to the point. He was pretty sure that the Meriahni government listened in on their conversation, even if no surveillance devices were visible. Prime Minister Coltan had assured Kirk that he had no idea about Tamulok's whereabouts. If he found out that Kirk now prodded Delihan about it, he might become miffed.

"I do."

"Well, I see you were convicted, and sentenced to a life in prison."

"Rightfully so," the Meriahn said, staring back emotionlessly.

"Yes. Maybe it interests you that the ship we escorted back to Romulan space was destroyed," Kirk continued, searching for a reaction in his opposite's face. Delihan's daughter had been on board that ship.

"Why would that interest me?" he asked flatly.

"What do you mean? Your daughter was on that ship!" McCoy said incredulously.

Kirk glanced sideways at McCoy before looking at Delihan again.

"That was a lie," the Meriahn said quickly.

Kirk remembered Spock telling him that Delihan had tried to save his daughter from dying of the Vulcan flu, by stealing information about the disease's cure from McCoy's mind. He hadn't succeeded, partly because he wasn't trained in performing a mind meld, partly because McCoy had fought him. However, in the process he had revealed that he had a child with a member of Tamulok's crew, a daughter who was living on board his ship.

"Maybe you should have read a manual on the technique of mind rape before you went messing with my head, Delihan. In the process you did not only intrude into my mind, but let me see into yours as well. I _know_, you have a daughter on that ship," McCoy said angrily, and added in a wrathful tone that Kirk had never heard from McCoy before, "or _had_."

There was no reaction from Delihan. Not a blink. For a moment Kirk was astonished. He would have bet that Delihan would feel strongly about the death of his daughter.

Then Delihan started talking: "You are telling me about my daughter's death because you want to see me mourn. If that what you say is true I do feel very sad," the Meriahn said coldly and pulled a grimace that resembled a grotesque parody of grief.

_Something is definitely wrong here_, Kirk thought. His mind started racing. This man looked as if he were a puppet, controlled by someone else. Someone who just wanted to get rid of them. If that was the case, there was no way they would get any valuable information about Tamulok from him.

"Have you talked enough?" Delihan asked raising an eyebrow, and Kirk suddenly remembered something about that emotionless and icy stare that Delihan was giving them. He'd seen it before.

"You! What ...," McCoy shouted, angry and frustrated, and about to leap over the table and shake Delihan, when Kirk stopped him, pulling him back by his sleeve.

"Bones! Let it go! This won't give you any satisfaction."

McCoy turned around to face Kirk and for a moment his rage was directed at his Captain and friend.

"What? It was _your_ damn idea!"

"I thought it would help you deal with the trauma," Kirk said, willing his eyes to convey a message to McCoy: _Just play along!_

"Yeah? Well, ... it doesn't," McCoy said, backing off, a slight question in his eyes.

"No, no, obviously not. I know, this ... prison ... is not what I expected. I thought you could see him working in the mines, doing hard work, you know. Pushing carts full of dirty rocks or something like that, and truly paying for his crime. Instead, Delihan, you're just sitting here, chit-chatting."

Delihan nodded. "Captain, you are keeping me from my work. If you weren't here, I would be outside, pushing carts of rocks, just as you wish me to."

"Well, we'd like to see it," Kirk said, standing up, holding out a hand and pointing to the door.

McCoy stood up as well, nodding towards Delihan, who then rose from his chair as well and without further ado, opened the door and proceeded into the mine. Kirk and McCoy followed.

Without looking back, the Meriahn proceeded further into the adit. When they passed another prisoner, who was pushing one of the antigrav mining carts they had seen before, the woman suddenly let go of the cart, without even looking up, and sat down on the floor, letting Delihan take over.

McCoy looked back at her while they were following Delihan. She had taken a cup from her belt and was now filling it with that strange liquid from one of the taps that were installed all over the walls. _Whatever that stuff is, it is not very nourishing_, McCoy thought. The prisoners did not seem exactly underweight, but they seemed sick, anyway. As if they were suffering from some kind of deficiency syndrome.

"Where are you bringing these rocks?" Kirk asked, while they proceeded further into the mine. He suddenly was very aware of being unarmed in the middle of an underground mine and prison on a non-Federation planet. But he was pretty sure that Coltan would not risk the budding relationship with the Federation by letting two Starfleet officers disappear in one of his prisons. And the Enterprise was monitoring them. Although they probably had difficulties in penetrating the kilometres of rock above them.

"The mill," Delihan said.

"So, this is what you normally do?" Kirk asked fruther, looking back the way they had come from, seeing nobody there. This mine was surely not very crowded.

"Yes."

As they reached the mill, they saw many mining carts, coming from different directions being emptied into a huge pit in absolute synchrony. The miners turned their carts and started to push them back into the different directions from where they had come, as if they were gear wheels in a huge machine. No one got sidetracked, no one stopped to take a breath, and no one seemed to take notice of them.

McCoy and Kirk watched as Delihan did, what all the others had done before. He was a little behind, due to the fact that he had been delayed by his two "guests". When he'd emptied his cargo no one else was visible. The mill started grinding, making a lot of noise.

McCoy turned his back to Delihan and spoke into Kirk's ear: "Jim, I don't know _what_ we're trying to do here. But I suggest we do it soon."

"You're right," Kirk said, watching Delihan maneuvering the large cart so that it faced into the opposite direction, back where they had come from.

With a sudden stride, he came up behind Delihan and shoved him onto the antigrav cart, so that for a moment the Meriahn was suspended in a field of zero gravity, floating in the air.

After a moment, Kirk reached down, grabbed him by the collar, and pulled him up to his face so that the Meriahn could understand the whispered, but still angry words: "Tamulok killed your daughter, his entire crew and 23 people on a Federation Starbase. He's about to kill many more. I want to know where he is."

The Meriahn blinked, and for a brief moment emotions rushed over his features: surprise, fear, and anger. He grabbed Kirk's wrist, using it to pull himself out of the field of zero gravity.

"I don't know where he is, but I know him well enough to give you some information," he said in a low voice, then turned his head to take a look around. "We must leave," he said, only to find that the human was still holding him in place, beside the cart.

"You're not going anywhere before ...," Kirk started to say, but then he was interrupted by McCoy who pulled at his elbow.

"Jim, I think, we might be in trouble!"

Suddenly Kirk could see a few people slowly walking towards them, carrying stones and pickaxes, ot something that looked like pickaxes. Behind them more figures were coming from out of the dark. They were silent, with dead eyes. They _were_ in trouble. He'd seen a scene like this on the planet Spock had called Vor-Ka-Ri, when the zombie-like Romulans and Vulcans had nearly killed Dr. M'Benga. He let go of Delihan taking a step back, only to find that he'd taken a step towards the still grinding mill.

"Follow me," Delihan said, then made a run towards a wall, and grabbed at a chain which brought down a ladder that led up to a little platform and a door in the rocky wall.

Kirk pushed McCoy after Delihan. It seemed as if they had no other choice than to trust that man. The first stones came flying towards them when they were climbing the ladder. Kirk almost lost his balance but was able to pull himself up on the platform just in time. They pressed themselves onto the platform to duck the flying rocks, while pulling up the ladder. Kirk heard McCoy say something, but couldn't make out what it was, he only realized that he sounded worried, frightened actually. He strained to look him in the eyes, give him a reassuring smile, but found it was harder than expected to focus on the blue, worried eyes of his friend. _Must be the dark, and also the water that is dripping from the ceiling_, Kirk thought wiping the warm liquid from out of his right eye. He suddenly felt nauseous and wanted nothing more than to barf over the platform onto those zombies. He chuckled. _That will teach them! _

He protested when he felt being dragged away from the edge of the platform into a brightly lit room that hurt his eyes. There was screaming, and then something hit the floor. Had he not been sure that _he_ was already cowering on the floor, he would have thought it was him because he felt very weak and he knew the feeling. _I'm going to pass out_.


	6. Chapter 5

Small reference to "Amok Time"

_Present_

When Spock entered sickbay he braced himself for a sight that had seemed to have wringed out all the oxygen from his lungs and for a second there had broken all of his emotional barriers and self- control a day before. When Jim had been beamed into the transporter room, he'd been on the bridge, but as soon as he could, he had hurried to sickbay, where Jim had been taken by the medical team that had been waiting in the transporter room.

Spock of course had known that his captain and friend was in a bad medical condition, but this knowledge hadn't prepared him for the sight of Jim Kirk's body, lying in absolute stillness on a bio-bed, his face white as that of a corpse and in stark contrast to the brownish bandage around the man's head, which Spock realized was soaked with Kirk's blood that disguised the cloth's originally light blue colour. His golden uniform was also soaked in blood and grime and they were cutting the dirty rag from him when he'd arrived. Spock had focused on Kirk's chest, willing it to rise and fall in a sure sign that the body on the bio-bed was still breathing and alive, only it had been hard to tell.

Dr Pulliam, the young female doctor that had saved Dr McCoy's life after Spock had stabbed him while under the control of that newly discovered virus, had been standing at Kirk's side, holding a hypo, hesitating to inject it into Kirk's neck and hovering undecidedly above the deathly complexion of the captain. Her hesitation may have lasted only a fraction of a second, but for Spock it had been the straw that broke the camel's back - and his self-control.

Jim Kirk had been in critical medical condition before, many times, and he had always survived. But something had been different then. On almost all of these occasions, _McCoy_ had been there to bring him back to life. The doctor was certainly an overly emotional person, he often showed irrational and illogical behaviour and for Spock's liking his work was missing scientific method at times. But there was no doubt that Dr Leonard McCoy was the best medical scientist and physician Spock had ever met, and he still had to find out if this was _in spite of_ or _because of_ the doctor's peculiarities. Compared to McCoy, Dr Pulliam was an amateur and it suddenly had been absolutely clear to Spock that she wasn't adequately qualified to save Jim Kirk's life.

"Dr Pulliam, if you're unable to do your job. move out of the way and let somebody else take over! The stakes are too high to let a medical wannabe try her hand at practising medicine!" he'd said in a voice dripping with contempt and panic.

His remark had not only been unjustified, but also counterproductive, as Spock had realised as soon as he had spoken the words. He should encourage her and not spark her self-doubts, thus taking her mind off the task which was nothing less than saving Kirk's life. However, he hadn't anticipated _this_ kind of reaction from her: The young doctor had stepped away from the bed, putting the hypo down, unused, beside the captain's head, folding her arms across her chest with a challenging look on her face.

Spock had been perplexed, unable to do anything for a split second, his mind suddenly reeling. He'd lost control. He'd let his emotions of fear for his friend get in the way of his command.

It wouldn't have been much of a problem had he commanded a crew of Vulcans. A Vulcan wouldn't have been distracted by his unsophisticated remark. But Dr Pulliam was a young, female human who had just lost her sister, most probably by the hand of another Vulcan. Those were the facts, and he had served among humans for long enough to know that this would probably have an effect on her psyche, which again would influence her performance as a doctor of the Enterprise. Being in command required a fine sense of the crew's morale and psychological condition, as Dr McCoy had pointed out to him on each of the occasions he _had_ been in command. Not only had this eluded him, but he also hadn't realized that he'd been about to lose control of his own emotions.

This wouldn't have happened had Dr McCoy been here, he realized now. McCoy was not only a sophisticated doctor, but also the counter balance to his Vulcan thinking. He had always secretly wondered how Jim Kirk could be friends with himself _and_ the doctor, two people whom he would consider having antipodal personalities, at the same time and to the same intensity. He'd never felt more near the answer than now. _Could it be that my rationality and logic and McCoy's emotional humanitarianism form a delicate balance that together make up a perfect dynamic? _

Nurse Chapel had been the first to react, first by injecting Kirk with the hypo, then by calling Dr Taylor who had come running into sickbay, unshaven, and still half asleep only minutes later. Dr Pulliam had left sickbay without a word then and nobody had gone after her. Nurse Chapel had taken her place and as Dr Taylor had later explained to Spock, she had probably saved Kirk's life when she'd injected him with the hypo when she did. It had been a close call.

Although Kirk was now in clean clothes and his head wound had been treated so that only a small red scar on the side of his temple reminded of the stone that had hit his head, his condition was anything but encouraging. He was in a deep coma, and Dr Taylor did not trust his skills enough to do the surgery he needed. His stillness was unnerving to all people who knew him as their charismatic, vibrant captain and who'd come to visit him, including, of course, Spock himself.

The sight of his still, possibly dying friend made him desperate, he had to admit. Why hadn't he ordered Enterprise to leave orbit and go directly back to a starbase where their captain could get the medical treatment he needed? Kirk was the finest starship captain in Starfleet, to lose him meant great loss not only for himself as Kirk's personal friend, but also for Starfleet and the Federation.

"Don't mind me, Mr Spock. I'm just checking the readings," Nurse Chapel said quietly to him, entering his field of vision.

"Please do, Nurse. Has there been any change?" Spock looked at her from the side and asked himself what kind of commendation would be appropriate for her.

"No," she smiled at him, "but that isn't necessarily bad news. It also means he is not deteriorating." She waited for a reaction. When none came, she went on in an even quieter voice: "I believe, Mr Spock, that you are doing the right thing. I mean, not to leave orbit and Dr McCoy. I understand it is against Starfleet's orders."

Spock raised a questioning eyebrow at her. "Nurse?"

She blushed. "In my eyes it is the right thing to do, I mean, morally. You should know that you have most of the crew on your side. Captain Kirk wouldn't have decided any differently. And I truely admire you for your decision."

Spock pressed his lips together. It was true, he also didn't think Kirk would leave McCoy to die in that prison complex. He had disregarded a direct order from Starfleet Command before, to save Spock's life during his Pon Farr. It was an event that Spock did not like remembering, for it reminded him of the ultimate superiority of a primitive biological drive over his rationality and logic. However, it also reminded him of the nature of the friendship he shared with Kirk and McCoy. He'd needed them both then, and had come out of the situation unharmed because they _both_ had been with him.

The relationship between the three of them was strange indeed, almost as if he, McCoy and Kirk were a planet and satellites evolving around each other, keeping each other in a balanced orbit around a star. If only one of them was suddenly taken away, the remaining two would leave their paths and ultimately crash into the burning sun. Saving McCoy from that prison also meant saving Kirk, and himself.

"What I'm about to do is not an act of loyalty or friendship. It is not a selfless deed. I do it out of self-preservation, which is a most primitive motivator," Christine heard him say. If it was to her, to the unconscious Kirk or to himself, she didn't know. She was about to reach out a hand to touch his arm, when Spock looked up at her with his usual, impassive face, nodded curtly and then turned on his heel to leave sickbay.


	7. Chapter 6

_Prolia labour camp - 36 hours until destruction_

He had no idea how it had come this far, and quickly he dismissed his thoughts that all circled around formulations like 'if only' and 'I told him so'. This wouldn't get them out of this place now. Also, getting out of here suddenly wasn't on top of McCoy's priority list anymore. Jim had been hit by one of the stones that had come flying towards them, when they'd reached the platform and turned around to pull up the ladder. He'd seen the zombie-like creatures move in under them and for a moment was preoccupied with a theory that had been forming in his head ever since they had seen these camel creatures on the planet's surface. Then he'd heard the stone hitting Jim's skull, and turned in time to see Jim swaying, almost falling off of the platform but somehow regaining his balance.

"Jim, you okay?" he said, trying to get a look at Jim's face, while Delihan scrambled off towards the door in the rock wall and pounded against it with his fist. Jim didn't hear him, but was swaying close to the edge of the platform again. When McCoy reached out to pull him away from the abyss, he could feel the warm blood dripping onto his hand.

"Dammit, Jim! I'm _here_, come on! _Look_ at me!" he yelled at him, pulled him towards himself, trying to see Jim into the eyes to assess the damage that stupid stone had done.

Jim smiled at him, but his eyes never found McCoy's. Instead they were searching around, unfocussed and confused. Then he started blinking and wiping a bloody hand across his face, mumbling something about feeling sick, chuckling quietly.

_Shit. Severe head trauma, possibly skull fracture. And all I have is a communicator, that doesn't function because of the miles of solid rock and dilithium above and around us, _McCoy thought, pulling Kirk further across the platform towards the door that had now been opened. The room behind was brightly lit, and McCoy felt a bit of hope. Light was good, at least then he could take a better look at Jim's head. Also, whoever was in there might be able to help.

When he and Jim had passed the threshold he took a fraction of a second to look around. There were two people in here, a prisoner, and a guard, whom McCoy could identify as such because the guard was wearing that strange hat that hid his pointy ears and that none of the prisoners they'd seen had worn. Then, already while turning back to face Jim, out of the corner of his eyes, McCoy could see Delihan taking a well placed swing at the guard that made him lose his headgear and then more heard than saw a second blow that made the man fall to the floor. By then his eyes were fixed on Jim again who was bleeding extensively from head wound and who was about to lose his fight to stay conscious.

"Don't! Jim, stay with me!" he shouted not necessarily because he wanted to keep him conscious but because he'd realized Jim's breathing was becoming irregular. First things first. In an attempt to stop the bleeding, he ripped his uniform sleeve apart and pressed the cloth against Kirk's head, also counting the seconds that elapsed between each of his friend's breaths. It was slowing and becoming more shallow. The breathing, not the flow of blood.

Someone had knelt down beside him and pressed a small blinking device above the primitive bandage on Kirk's head. It did the trick. The flow of blood turned into a trickle and finally stopped.

McCoy sat back on his heels and looked at Delihan, who had provided the vascular stabilizor that had finally stopped the bleeding.

"You have an oxygen mask?" he asked, painfully noticing Jim's lips turning blue already.

"There's enough oxygen in the air. He must only breathe!" Delihan said, holding up a hand in a gesture that made McCoy's blood freeze. He could see the Meriahn was serious in his suggestion to initiate a mind meld with Kirk to get his brain to command his body to breathe properly.

"You touch him, and you're dead!" McCoy said, meaning it as a threat, but realizing that it could also be seen as a warning. Melding with Jim now could drag Delihan into unconsciousness and even a coma along with him.

"I know the technique well. It is safe," Delihan said calmly.

McCoy's eyes flashed. "You forget that I know everything about your abilities as a mind melder. Believe me, I'd be happy to break your neck the second you _attempt_ to mess with his mind," he spit out staring into Delihan's eyes with a sudden calmness and strength he hadn't imagined of ever being able to muster while facing the man who had mind raped him only a few weeks before.

It did have an effect. Delihan backed away a few centimeters and put his hands in his lap. When he spoke, he didn't look McCoy in the eyes.

"What I tried doing with your mind was something totally different. I apologised, and I meant it. I was in a desperate situation. But triggering the breathing reflex in the brain is something all Meriahni doctors learn in med school. It is totally safe, and does not require touching a person's _mind, _his private thoughts or memories_,_ at all."

McCoy would have to start artificial respiration soon. And he couldn't keep that up for long, that was sure also. So, if Jim didn't start breathing on his own then, it could be that Delihan's suggestion was his only chance. McCoy felt panic rise inside of him. He just _couldn't_ let this convicted mind rapist do something with Kirk's mind that could possibly harm him in the same way it had hurt himself.

"It may not be necessary," he said simply. _Unless we're miraculously beamed out of here in the next five minutes, _something _will be necessary to keep Jim breathing, _McCoy thought and muttered a prayer under his breath. A prayer to their guardian angel that was in orbit and, hopefully, watching.

_o0o_

_Enterprise - 35.8 hours until destruction_

"I've found them!" Uhura said triumphantly, beaming at Spock who was standing just a little to her left with his hands behind his back. He seemed totally calm and almost indifferent, but the bridge crew knew quite well that this was only their first officer's facade. Ever since they had lost signal contact with Kirk and McCoy, when they had descended into the mine, the crew on the bridge had followed the pictures the surveillance cameras of the Prolia complex provided. Uhura had tapped into the surveillance system of the complex and projected the pictures onto the screen. That way they had been able to see where Captain Kirk and Dr McCoy were and what they were doing. But when they suddenly had been attacked near the mill, she hadn't been able to zoom in on them. And now they were gone.

"There must be a room or something behind that platform," she had said, hoping she was right. It could also be that they were lying dead on that platform, flat on their backs so that the camera couldn't see them.

Spock had ordered her to keep listening to the communication channels and do everything to find Kirk and McCoy again.

"On screen, Lieutenant," Spock said, turning towards the screen.

The sight that greeted them was alarming. Kirk and McCoy were inside a brightly-lit control room. Delihan was with them, wearing the headgear of a guard that was lying unconscious, possibly dead on the ground. Beside the body of the guard, a prisoner was kneeling impassively on the floor.

Kirk was lying on his back, a makeshift bandage around his head and an alien medical device above his temple. He was absolutely still, too still and way too pale with a blue tinge to his lips.

McCoy and Delihan were obviously arguing about something.

"Sound, Lieutenant?" Spock asked gruffly. She could tell that he hadn't been prepared for this kind of sight.

"Yes sir, just a moment." She pressed a few buttons and after a bit of static, the ongoing argument became audible to the crew of Enterprise's bridge.

"... what it will do to a human," McCoy said in obvious anger.

"I don't. But if we do nothing, doctor, he will suffer more brain damage from lack of oxygen."

"There must be something in that first aid kit of yours, that ..."

The Meriahn half-heartedly rummaged through a small pack on the floor, for probably not the first time. "No."

McCoy had bent down again towards Kirk's face to breathe for him while Delihan spoke. When he came up, there were tears in his eyes, from exertion, Spock concluded.

"Show me the procedure!" McCoy whispered.

"Doctor McCoy, you can't do it. You're not a telepath," Delihan reasoned.

"I now, you stupid idiot! I meant, show me how this would feel to Jim!" McCoy shouted at him, then bent down again to breathe for Kirk.

"Are you suggesting I meld with you?" Delihan now whispered himself.

"Yes. What's your problem? If you're going to mess with Jim's head then I need to know that it won't ..., I don't know, make him want to kill himself later because of it. You try it on _me_ first. I'm already a victim of your melding technique. If this doesn't work, I will know, and there still will be only one ... rape victim."

"And Captain Kirk will die," Delihan argued.

McCoy reached out a hand towards the side of Jim's face, hovering only a few milimeters above the white skin, not quite touching his injury. "Believe me, some things are worse than being dead," he said calmly.

There was a pause in the control room as well as on the Enterprise's bridge.

Delihan slowly reached out his fingers and touched the human's face, who was staring at Jim's still form, his hands holding Jim's limp right hand between them. The moment Delihan's fingers found the meld points on Dr McCoy's face, a shudder, like from an electirc shock went through him and he started coughing violently. Delihan's long fingers pulled away. The Meriahn looked satisfied.

McCoy had turned away in his cough and after another moment, he'd gotten himself under control again.

"That was all?" he asked, his breath hitching.

Delihan nodded. "It was."

McCoy's breathing was evening out, but Spock could see beads of perspiration on his brow and the tremor in his voice was audible to everyone.

"I swear, if your m-meld lasts any longer than that, I'll strangle you with my bare hands."

The Meriahn bowed slightly, and then reached out his hand, his fingers spread. His gaze was fixed on McCoy who had let go of Kirk's hand with one of his own that he now held in the air, between Jim's head and Delihan's elbow.

The touch was brief, but it had the desired effect. Kirk didn't even cough, he just resumed taking, slow, deep, and regular breaths.


	8. Chapter 7

This is for Hkay - if you hadn't been "nagging" I wouldn't have updated so soon :-)

_Prolia Labour Camp - 33 hours to destruction_

McCoy found himself breathing in sync with Kirk who had slipped into a coma and would possibly never regain consciousness again, unless he underwent neurosurgery soon. McCoy didn't have the means for a proper diagnosis, but he had a lifetime of experience. Even Spock would have to admit that his medical instinct seldomly deceived Dr. Leonard McCoy.

_Spock_. He was sure that by now the Vulcan was wearing off the floor of the bridge. _Yeah, he's tearing his hair and chewing his fingernails right now, _McCoy laughed mirthlessly at his mental picture. Then his hands resumed washing away the dried blood from Kirk's hair with a ragged piece of cloth he had torn from his own uniform and dipped into the basin of water Delihan had provided. It did nothing to help Jim, of course, but it gave him something to do.

"I'm sure that genius first officer of yours is going to think of something to get us out, Jim. You just wait and see," he whispered quietly to the unmoving form of his friend. There was no need to let the Meriahn hear.

Delihan was working at the control station, the other Meriahn, a convict, was still sitting there, staring blankly at the dead guard beside him on the floor. Every once in a while, he'd take a sip of that pink liquid that McCoy had seen being consumed by all the captives.

"That pink stuff, is it some kind of drug?" McCoy finally asked Delihan, not quiet succeeding in keeping his voice even. He was still terrified of the man who'd mind raped him, although Delihan had not been threatening since they'd ended up in this control room, at all. On the contrary, he had been very helpful, melding with Jim to help him get his breathing under control, providing them with water and a blanket. He was sitting with his back to them, working at the controls and sometimes scratching his head and sighing quietly. To anyone except himself he'd seem like a scientist, absorbed in his work, a bit strange, absent minded, intellectual. But not threatening.

However, McCoy had had to muster all his strength and courage to address him. If they wanted to get out of here, he had to know what was going on.

"No, it is a nutrient solution. Rich in carbohydrates," Delihan said without turning.

"Oh," McCoy stopped washing Kirk's hair and face, and looked at the regular rise and fall of his friend's chest. It calmed him somewhat. _Carbohydrates. Sugar._ Suddenly, he remembered the picture of Spock walking towards him with a blank stare, similar to the one of the capitve sitting across from him now, a scalpel in his raised hand.

Spock had been under the influence of a virus then. A virus that had the same roots as the Vulcan flu virus, but that turned its host into a zombie-like creatures. It befell Romulans and Vulcans, who would loose their own will, and do whatever the virus wanted, Spock had nearly killed him then, and gone to the mess to gulp down tons of cake and other sugary stuff afterwards.

"You know, that virus, ...," McCoy started.

"Hm?" Delihan still didn't turn to look at him, to which McCoy was grateful.

"It didn't develop on that planet in the Romulan neutral zone, did it?" It suddenly all made sense to McCoy. The Vulcan flu virus had developed in the tchorka, an animal that had been extinct on Vulcan for centuries. It had looked like a big, hairy camel and McCoy now remembered the strange animals he'd seen on the surface. What if Meriah Five was the planet the Vulcans who had left their home planet, because they didn't want to follow Surak, first settled on? These people certainly did look a lot like Vulcans ... and Romulans.

"What?" Delihan finally turned around, surprised. "No. This virus, that looks a lot like the virus you have isolated for causing the Vulcan flu, has developed here, about two millennia ago."

McCoy nodded, and looked from Delihan to the captive. "We suspected the virus to control its host, communicating with other hosts of the virus telpathically. Is that true?"

Delihan made a gesture that resembled shaking his head and nodding at the same time, "The carriers of the virus lose every ounce of their personality and free will. Thus, they become very susceptible of telepathic control."

McCoy's eyes grew wide. "You mean the virus doesn't control its host, it just makes it more sensitive towards telepathic control of _other telepaths_?"

Delihan nodded slowly. "That ... is true, doctor. More than three quarters of the Meriahni population are infected with the virus and are ruled, no _controlled_, by the remaining quarter. It has been that way for over a thousand years. Over eighty per cent the Meriahni people do nothing, but what they're told to do. Our society has experienced generations of perfect peace. No revolutions, no uprisings, no violence, no wars."

McCoy's brow furrowed. "All because of an illness."

"Yes. This virus has become an integral part of our society. A pillar, maybe the only one. It supports our government, our economy, our culture and way of life - everything that is us."

"How do you prevent the remaining 20 per cent of Meriah's population from being infected?" McCoy shook his head. He hadn't found Vor-Kar-Ri after all. At least not in the neutral zone.

"Vorka. It's an extremely rare element that can be found on the northern hemisphere of Meriah. It's slight radiation purges the body of the virus. It also enhances telepathic powers." Deliahn pointed to the hat he had taken from the guard.

"You don't say," McCoy looked at the Meriahn sitting on the floor who made a movement as if he wanted to get up. "How many people can you control with your nifty hat?"

"It takes training. I used to be able to control only about 10 maybe 15 at a time, but some are able to control a lot more. Of course, it also depends on what you want them to do. Having them carry stuff, push carts or do other types of monotonous work is much easier than having them operate heavy machinery, write, or talk. That also depends on the intelligence of the slave."

"You call them slaves?" McCoy turned his head to see the Meriahni slave walk over to the door of their room.

"What else should we call them? They are slaves, even if they don't know it."

"My god," McCoy quickly turned back to Deliahn when the other Meriahn slipped through the heavy door and let it fall back into its lock with a loud noise.

"Where's he going?"

"I'm sending him down to get the others."

"What? Won't they, I don't know, ... kill you?"

"Doctor, while you were sitting on the floor, tending to your friend, I took control over the slaves in the mine. Not all, but about a hundred of them are free of the virus. I can't believe it is so easy. The antigravity carts haven't been in use for long, but we found that work is so much more effective with them. You had to control twenty slaves to do the work of one with an antigrav cart."

"Wait, wait. You want to free the slaves. You want to ... destroy the pillar of your society?"

"A society like ours can't survive. We've seen other species in the past decades. The passionate Klingons, scheemingly Romulans, the thirsty for knowledge Federation. There are billions of you. We're just one planet. And three quarters of our population is in a constant sleep. Many can't even speak a language, and don't have a name. They'll make fearless and disciplined soldiers, yes, but in the end, every culture will be superior to ours, because each of these cultures is based on living, thinking, passionate people with a love for life, honour, identity. We're bloodless, passionless robots."

"You really thought I could give you a cure for that virus, didn't you?" McCoy whispered breathlessly.

"I did. When I found out, that our virus resembled one that you knew and had a cure for, I thought it would get _us_ closer to a cure. The problem was, no one in my government wanted a cure. It would mean a total change of our lives. It probably _will_ mean revolution, violence and the death of many. But it will also mean that we'll be able to unfold our full potential as a people," Delihan had knelt down in front of McCoy, so they were now at eye level.

"Doctor, it was no lie, when I said that I have a daughter with a Romulan. She got infected with the virus even though she had no contact with any of the infected slaves. I've come to believe that Tamulok was behind this. He'd somehow found out about our secret. I was able to get a piece of Vorka for her, to make her immune, but Tamulok took it from me."

Delihan looked down at McCoy's hand that was now hovering millimeters above Kirk's head wound again, as if to shield him from Delihan's desperate stare. The Meriahn shook his head slightly and let out a pained sob.

"That's not true. I ... gave it to him. He ... promised me, that he knew of a medicine that would cure the disease forever. He showed me the Vulcan flu virus in his ship's medical database, saying that the Federation had a cure, which would also cure our virus. All we had to do is get it. I believed him. I don't know why, but I not only gave him the Vorka, but I also taught Tamulok how to control his infected crew, step by step, and he became better and better. All the while the situation on Tamulok's ship became more and more critical, since the crew fell into the typical lethargy and neglected maintenance. But Tamulok didn't care much. When your ship arrived, it was our chance. He told me what to do and I believed him, because it suddenly gave me hope. Hope for my people. Can you understand that?"

McCoy shuddered. He _could_ understand. That Romulan had proven to be able to deceit each and every person in his path; Prime Minister Coltan of Meriah, Captain Saluk of the P'Jem, his own Romulan crew, Velal, the female Romulan spy, the Orions, Jim, _myself_. We all trusted him at times, although we should have known better. Somehow he'd managed to attract his opposite's sympathy. Even Spock's.

McCoy didn't intend to comfort this Meriahn, though. "Why does it matter to you? Jim did not lie when he told you about Tamulok's ship and crew, you know? He destroyed it, including your little girl, I believe."

As soon as McCoy had spoken the words, he regretted it. For they triggered feelings of loss and despair inside himself, flashes of memories that he knew weren't memories at all, but fabricated pictures of Joanna, induced by Delihan with the intention to hurt him, to pressure him into answering a question that he hadn't understood in the first place. He realized in a far away, detached, observing part of himself that he was merely experiencing a flashback scene of the mind rape, probably triggered by that new meld with Delihan. He could feel himself spiralling into an abyss of mental torture, madness. Spock had once saved him from falling into that abyss, and for a split second, he wanted nothing more than Spock here with him, catching him mentally, pulling him away from the dark pit of terror and steadying him. His mind cried out for him in a loud, desperate wail, that brought his heart up into his throat and sweat onto his brow.

_Enterprise - 25 hours to destruction of Prolia Labour Camp_

Spock had been in contact with Prime Minister Coltan, only to hear excuses, lies and finally warnings and threats. There was no way the Meriahn was going to allow a search and rescue party from the Enterprise into the camp. Unfortunately the Meriahni government was clearly incapable of dealing with the problem itself. Spock wasn't surprised, since from all he had learned about Meriahni society in the past hours, he deduced that these kind of situations of disobedience and resistance had never occurred in Meriahni history before.

So far, no official had entered the prison complex. The Meriahni government simply waited and observed what was going on. They did not know that Spock knew exactly what was going on, since Uhura had tapped into their communication and surveillance system. And so they kept saying, that Kirk and McCoy were unable to leave, but okay otherwise, and therefore the Enterprise should be patient and not interfere with Meriahni affairs. If they should, Meriah would see this as a violation of the sovereignity of their planet and this would drive them into an alliance with the Klingon Empire, which was something that the Federation wanted to avoid at all costs. Therefore, Starfleet Command had ordered Spock to just stand by and watch.

But Spock found it difficult to watch. He'd been alarmed when he'd seen the captain's condition. It was clear that Kirk needed treatment, desperately. Instead, he was lying on the cold floor of a prison camp. It was the most frustrating sight, and showed him the impotence of his own existence in a very distressing manner, he was ready to admit that to himself and everyone else who wanted to know.

However, he still couldn't explain the feeling of utter despair that had gripped him after he had watched and heard McCoy tell Delihan that his daughter had died on the Romulan ship. The emotion had come unexpectedly and had sucked all air from his lungs. Black spots had been dancing in front of him and the crew had turned towards him when he'd whispered the doctor's name. He'd been staring at the screen, not seeing the picture of McCoy kneeling beside their captain and friend, now gripping his shoulder like a lifesaviour, but seeing a black void behind the doctor's sweaty brow.

_This shouldn't happen. I'm a Vulcan, _Spock had thought then, and had fled from the bridge ordering Uhura gruffly to contact Prime Minister Coltan and put him through to the conference room.


	9. Chapter 8

_Prolia Labour Camp - 24 hours to destruction_

He'd been sitting on the cold and unyielding floor for 12 hours now. McCoy shifted for the thousandth time on the concrete floor, failing for the thousandth time to find a comfortable position. He refused to lean against the wall or to take the chair, because that meant he'd have to let go of Jim's hand and he couldn't do that.

He'd tried, but had come to realize that Jim's hand was essential to his sanity. It was irrational, sentimental, downright pathetic, but it was a fact. Delihan had not yet realized that the mental status of McCoy had rapidly deteriorated since his little conversation with him. He was preoccupied with organizing the confused, frightened and wide-eyed slaves that had joined them in the small room and were still coming.

"You love him?" A quiet voice pulled McCoy out of his thoughts. It belonged to a middle aged lady, with grey hair, and quite a few wrinkles, but intelligent, sparkling eyes. _You can best see the difference in their eyes_. he thought, before smiling at the woman.

"Yeah," he answered. He wasn't sure if the woman sitting on the other side of Jim had a slightly false picture of the nature of his relationship between him and Jim now, but it didn't matter. The truth was, he _did_ love Jim. And their relationship had lasted longer than any relationship he'd ever had, except for maybe that with his parents, but that was different.

"You never let go of his hand," she went on.

McCoy looked down at their intertwined hands. "That's right. Although he's unconscious, he can probably sense my presence. It is reassuring. Many doctors use touch as a therapeutical means."

The woman's smile grew wider. "Yes. my mother used to hold my hand when I was sick."

She edged a bit closer to Jim's unconscious form. Her hand slowly reached out towards Jim's other pale hand. Then she stopped suddenly, directing a questioning look at McCoy.

"Do you think I could help him too?"

"Why not? It can't hurt. Just try it," McCoy said. He had been lying to the woman, about the reason why he held Jim's hand. It wasn't to reassure Jim, although that might be a positive sideeffect. The reason was, _he_ needed _Jim's_ touch.

The woman gingerly picked up the limp hand and placed it between her palms.

"It's cold," she said and started to gently rub the coldness from it.

McCoy's face fell. "No wonder. He's in a coma, lying on a concrete floor in a prison."

"Love. How does that feel?" the woman asked further, still rubbing Jim's hand between her palms.

McCoy was taken by surprise. This woman asked questions he would have expected from a child. Her big eyes looked questioningly at him, and her mouth was sligtly open and curved in anticipation of his answer. Her expression contradicted her pointy ears, which he associated with a know-it all and always seemingly arrogant Vulcan.

"It's a very powerful feeling that can give you great strength. Mothers are known to have gained superhuman strength when their child was in danger. Couples have overcome all kinds of boundaries, social, ethnic and regional, even if all odds were against them, only because they wanted to be together. People have survived the most severe illnesses and dire situations only because a loved one was waiting for them. Love is a great motivator. On my planet, it has caused wars, and ended them."

"But _how_ does it _feel_?" she asked again, not satisfied.

McCoy swallowed. "It's different every time. It makes you happy. But sometimes, it makes you sad, or angry.."

She just stared at him.

"Okay. I'm not making sense, am I?" he asked, smiling. Here he was telling a pointed-eared, middle aged prisoner how it felt to love. He suddenly felt up to the challenge.

"You said you remember your mother holding your hand. What else do you remember about her?"

"I don't know. She was ... _there_. ... She was beautiful."

"Do you remember her face?"

"No."  
>"How do you know then, that she was beautiful?"<p>

"Because I remember that I liked looking at her."

"Why?"

"It made me feel safe. Calm, and warm."

"See? That's how love feels," McCoy smiled triumphantly.

She looked at him, puzzled. "It makes you feel save, calm and warm when you're holding his hand," she said, "that's why you love him."

"Well, ...," his brow furrowed, should he admit it? "yes."

"Would you be frightened, anxious and cold without him?"

"I guess so."

She chewed her lip. "But, I don't think, it is good for _him_," she said after a while.

McCoy was alarmed. "What do you mean?"

"Being here. On the floor, holding your hand. I mean, wouldn't it be better to get him to a place where they could treat his head wound? Say a hospital, on the surface? Keeping him here seems to be only good for _you_." She was simply asking a question, there was no criticism or accusation in her voice or her face.

"What do you mean?" he asked her incredulously, "There's no way of getting him out of here! We can't get to the surface. We can't contact anyone from your government, nor can we speak to anyone on the Enterprise. Your people have tried to get out. But all doors are locked, all elevators are out of order, nobody can escape." 

"Enterprise?"

"Our ship. We're not Meriahn, we're humans. Our ship is in your planet's orbit!" he shouted at her, then realized, that she probably didn't know about other planets, or spaceships.

She shied away. Letting go of Jim's hand, crawling back until she hit the wall with her shoulder.

"Sorry. You probably, don't know that," he said, forcing his voice down.

She just stared, confused and frightened.

"What's your name?" he asked, changing his strategy. If she knew a way out of here, he had to get her to reveal it.

Her eyes grew wide, "Yani - ah," she breathed, and her voice broke on the last syllable. She pulled her legs up and hid her face on her knees.

"Yaniah," McCoy repeated and then remembered Delihan mentioning that many of these slaves didn't even speak a language, let alone have names, "you haven't heard that name in a long time, have you?" he asked her gently.

"I was twelve when they made me a slave," she said, looking up again.

"Yaniah," McCoy fought to keep the anguish he suddenly felt on her behalf from his voice, "Your name is beautiful. Ya-ni-ah. You can be proud."

She smiled.

"I'm sorry, if I scared you, Yaniah. My name's Leonard."

"Len-aah-rr-d."

He smiled at her clumsy attempt to repeat his name. "Yeah. Call me, Lenny."

"Why?"

"Well, it's easier, and nicer than Leonard. My friends call me Lenny."

"Does _he_ call you Lenny?" Yaniah asked, pointing at Jim.

"Uh, no. Yes. Well, ... no. He calls me Bones," he said with a selfconscious smile.

"Bones. Who calls you Lenny then ... Bones?"

McCoy bit his lip to stop himself from laughing. "Actually, ... no one. I don't know. In my youth some people said Lenny. But now most people say, ... doctor," he realized, suddenly finding that strange.

"Can I call you Bones, doctor ... Lenny?" she asked, grinning.

He realized she was teasing him. and chuckled. "If you like. It's probably the name I like best."

"Because _he's_ the one who gave it to you?"

"Yaniah," McCoy needed to focus again, "how can we get to the surface?"

"_We_ can't. But _one_ person could use the escape capsule."

His eyebrows shot up. "Escape capsule? Where is that?"

She pointed to a spot under the console, where a few people sat staring about confusedly. "Behind them."

"How do you know about it?"

"I've helped building it," she said. "There is much solid rock above us, and the conveyor cage is far away.. When we built the mill, we put in a capsule that could be used by the free Meriahn working at the controls, in case of a fire, or a cave-in. They didn't like working here. They were always afraid something would happen."

"So, the capsule brings people to the surface?" McCoy gained hope.

"No. It can be used by only _one_ person. But it brings that person to the surface. Outside the prison too. I think it ends ... somewhere in the woods," she said, remembering.

McCoy couldn't believe his luck. If he could get Jim to the surface, the Enterprise would detect his communicator signal and be able to beam him aboard, where Dr Pulliam could treat him. She was a good neurosurgeon, although lacking experience. However, she was definitely able to do more for him _there_ than_ he_ was able to do _here_.

"Would you show me how to use it?"

She nodded slowly, looking disappointed. "Will you leave us?"

McCoy let go of Jim's hand, unconsciously, gripping Yaniah's forearms. "Leave you? No! Don't you understand? Jim needs medical help. If we could get him to the surface, he could get the help he needs!"

"But you said, you need him to keep you warm and calm. You said you love him."

He shook his head at her. "That's right. Yaniah, you said it yourself: It would be better for _him _if he weren't here. You know, love is not about oneself. The truth is: I'd give my life for him."

Her eyes grew bigger. "I gave most of my life to the free Meriahn. Does that mean, I love them?"

McCoy's heart constricted. "Did you do it willingly?"

She thought for a few moments. "I don't remember. ... I don't think so."

"Then it is not love. You see, love makes willingly you do things that aren't necessarily _good_ for you. But on the other hand, knowing that I could have helped Jim and didn't do it, only to save my _own_ life, wouldn't be _good_ for me either. I couldn't live with that kind of knowledge."

She stared at him for a long moment. "So, giving your life for him would be ... for your own good? I don't understand that."

He smiled ruefully. "I don't think I fully understand myself, Yaniah. It is ... illogical." He stopped for a moment, thinking. "But I understand this: Love is bigger than we are. It means more than any indvidual, and if you're lucky enough to experience it, you should be thankful."

She nodded slowly. "Yes. I wish I could experience it."

"You may. Love almost always comes unexpectedly. Look, would you show me the escape capsule?"

Yaniah nodded. "Yes, Bones. It's over here." She stood and pulled McCoy up with her. He felt his stiff joints protest when she pulled him towards the console.

"Get out of the way!" she shouted at the crowd of people who sat in front of the hatch of the escape capsule. "This is bigger than any of you!"


	10. Chapter 9

Okay, I'm getting closer to the end. Thanks to everyone who's still with this story!

_Prolia Labour Camp - 6 hours to destruction_

McCoy watched as Yaniah wiped the tears from a man's face who probably was about the same age as he was himself. The man trembled, making little, unarticulated noises, as he desperately wanted to express himself, but was lacking an adequate language.

"Don't fear!" Yaniah crooned, "You're fine. Shh. It's alright."

McCoy closed his eyes and hugged himself. This place was hell. When they'd accomplished sending Jim in that escape capsule to the surface, he'd tried to tend to the many haggard looking and distraught prisoners that were coming in. It had helped him to distract himself from the panic that lurked inside him, threatening to jump up and totally consume him any minute. Yaniah had soon imitated his behaviour. She hadn't gotten tired of calming these people, talking to them, drying tears, smiling at blank, confused faces and holding people's hands. Not long ago she had started to call some of them by names she had thought up for them. McCoy admired her energy.

He could function in emergency situations for hours, even days without rest if he needed to, and had done so on more occasions than he cared to think about. In his career, he'd seen many gory things, literally waded in human and alien blood at times and had operated until he'd collapsed. He'd seen and dealt with traumatized people before, but this here was different.

These slaves were the most pitiable creatures. Suddenly being able to think for yourself, gaining a consciousness for the first time ever, McCoy had no idea how that must feel. He remembered a report he'd once read, about a woman in the 20th century who had been born deaf and blind. Only when she had been in her teens, she had learned a language that used touch to express words. Later she had reported that she didn't remember anything from before that time. Language was essential to consciousness, to identity. _How can a whole society bear such a cruelty - for thousands of years?_ Sure, there had been societies on earth that had exploited huge parts of the population. Kings and governments had let their people starve while they wallowed in abundance and glut. But _this_ was gluttony to much greater degree.

When he, Kirk and Spock had first beamed down to Meriah Five, he'd thought that living within Meriah's society was paradisiacal: There was no material want, no violence. The highest goal for Meriah's people was self-fulfillment, and improvement on an intellectual basis. But now he saw at what cost: These slaves were deprived of everything slaves were usually deprived of: their freedom, their rights. But even more, _these_ slaves had been deprived of the only thing that earth's slaves had always had: their consciousness, their thoughts, their personality.

And they were _still_ being ignored by their fellow citizens. The only sign that spoke for the fact that someone out there was actually aware of what was going on down here, had been when the taps that provided the nutrient solution were turned off. They wanted to starve them out.

Every once in a while a prisoner would go to one of these taps with his dirty little cup and try to draw some of that awful pink stuff out of it. They couldn't understand that nothing came out of them anymore. The only thing that had provided them with some satisfaction, as basic as it had been, had been taken away from them. They stared with big eyes at the taps, thinking that something must be wrong, trying again and again. Their frustrated cries tore at McCoy's soul.

It was abominable. He suddenly came to realize just how abhorrent these Meriahn really were and slowly, he came to understand that Delihan who wanted to change all this was a kind of liberator, a hero. And this hero had violated him, McCoy, in a way that still made him suffer.

McCoy shuddered._ No! Don't go there._ He searched for Yaniah again. Even though he barely knew her, she'd become his anchor, ever since Jim had left them.

"I'm Yaniah," he heard her say to the huddled, frightened man. She took his hand to point at his chest. "you're Loriahn."

He looked at her, repeating, "Loriahn."

"Yes! Wonderful! Hello Loriahn!" she said.

"Yaniah?" he asked her.

"Yes?"

"I'm Loriahn." he beamed at her, the joy bringing tears to his eyes. Hearing someone call him by a name, was probably the happiest moment in his life, and although McCoy had found those moments touching and encouraging the first times he had witnessed them, he couldn't feel happy about them anymore. They frightened him, reminded him of what people were capable of doing to their fellow citizens. He hugged himself closer.

"Please, don't leave me here to die," he whispered to no one in particular. Then, when he realized what he'd done, clamped a hand over his mouth.

Some of the slaves, like Yaniah, had become slaves when they'd been older. They understood their situation now, and listened to Delihan, who tried to organize them, get them to fight their way out of the prison to claim back their lives, change Meriah's society and start a revolution.

McCoy doubted they had a chance. It had been over a day now, and they were still here in the prison, and not a single official had tried to contact them. They'd all die from hunger and thirst - if they were lucky. If they weren't lucky, they'd start to kill each other and ...

"Stop it!" he suddenly shouted at himself, not caring anymore that he was showing signs of beginning insanity, "Spock! Please, if you can't get me out in the next couple of hours, please ... just destroy this camp, before these people start killing and eating each other!" he whispered to his friend, hoping he could hear him, and also, to the same degree, hoping he couldn't.

There was commotion at the door and McCoy could see Delihan, spotting the hat he was wearing. He was searching the room, finding him, and coming towards him. McCoy scrambled back, only to find he couldn't, for there was the wall behind him.

"Yaniah," he shouted at her, reaching out for her.

She saw him, took his outstretched hand the minute Delihan arrived and knelt beside him.

"Doctor McCoy!" he said, searching the frightened blue eyes before him.

McCoy grabbed Yaniah's hand even tighter and she drew in a breath harshly. "What?" he ground out. _My god, I am, I really am becoming insane. _

"Do not fear me!" he said, after having studied the trembling doctor, "I'm here to keep my promise."

"What promise?" McCoy succeeded in keeping his voice steady.

"My comrades and I will climb up the shaft and run an attack on the guards on the surface. We'll fight our way out of here," he said.

McCoy knew that was impossible. Even if they made it to the surface, they wouldn't make it out of the prison. But he didn't really care. "And?" he just said.

"We will die in the process. but we'll set a sign," he said matter-of-factly.

"Oh yeah?"

"I promised you, to tell you what I know about Tamulok's whereabouts. You must stop him, or he'll turn his planet into another Meriah."

McCoy felt anger well up inside him. "As if that would help us any. Who am I gonna tell? I'll die in here, thanks to you!"

Delihan smiled, which made McCoy want to punch him. "No, doctor, I strongly believe your Enterprise is still up there, monitoring all this. The Federation won't let one of their citizens die in here. They'll get you out. Captain Kirk once told Coltan, they were willing to start a war with Meriah, only to do justice and get the person who assaulted you: me."

McCoy snorted. "You believed that? The Federation will never start a war with your planet only for revenge, or to save my life! I'm not important enough."

Delihan's face fell. "But now they know what my government is doing to its own people. Captain Kirk will tell them what he found out, when he was here. Surely they'll find that that's morally intolerable. They will attack Meriah, and change our society."

"They won't. Believe me," McCoy said bitterly.

Delihan deflated. "But, your Federation. I thought they were ..."

"What? God? They won't interfere with the affairs of a sovereign planet, as long as they're not attacking a member of the Federation."

Delihan frowned. "Maybe not. But Captain Kirk will not let you die in here."

"Captain Kirk may be dying himself this very moment," McCoy spit at Delihan angrily, and seconds later realized with panic, that he may be right.

"Your Commander Spock ...," Delihan tried, now desperate. Why did this human insist on seeing everything so pessimistic?

"If Spock's in command, he'll do what Starfleet Command tells him to do. He won't risk his career on my behalf. And he shouldn't."

Again, McCoy realized he was probably right, and it suddenly dawned on him, that he was really and truely about to die in the next days, maybe hours. No one had had anything to eat or drink in the last hours. They couldn't go on much longer. If he was lucky, he'd be one of the first to die. If these Meriahn really were of Vulcan descent that would even be quite likely, since Vulcans were able to go without food and drink for much longer than humans.

Yaniah edged closer, her eyes wide with fear. "Bones, are we all going to die?"

"For nothing?" Delihan added.

McCoy felt to pairs of eyes on him, as they waited desperately for him to answer that question.

"Why, ...?" McCoy could understand why Yaniah turned to him with questioning eyes, trusting him to comfort her, and keep her safe. He had been the first person to talk to her after her long sleep, a whole life of being controlled by other minds, other people who only cared for her as they would for a tool. But Delihan? Why did he bother? What did McCoy's opinion mean to that Meriahn?

As he searched for an answer, the sound of the people in the background was becoming louder. There were no words, just sounds, but distinctive sounds of frustration and aggression. Loriahn, the Meriahn slave that Yaniah had named, was hitting his empty cup on the floor, repeatedly. The others, wanting to stop the annoying noise pushed him around which made him even more agressive. Yaniah tore herslef loose and went to the ball of bodies that was now rolling on the floor. The cup came flying and hit her squarely on the nose, which started bleeding instantly.

McCoy got up, reaching for her, but was pushed aside by Deliahn's body when the massive body of a Meriahn slave fell backwards from out of the crowd, burying Delihan under him.

McCoy heard a sickening crack, and before he even caught a glimpse of the former Secretary of Defense's body, he knew that he was dead. He'd broken his neck.

The man who'd fallen on Delihan turned around, appalled by the sight of the odd angle at which Delihan's head was lying, and the surprised but definetly dead eyes staring up at him.

_Enterprise - 5.8 hours to destruction_

It was silent on the bridge, not peaceful, but silent. All personnel stared at the screen, at the scene before them, where their own Doctor McCoy now hugged a middle-aged Meriahni slave girl, calming her, telling her, that he was sure they'd be saved.

She cried, while he tried to stop the bleeding from her nose with another piece of his already torn uniform.

"Shh, it's alright. Listen to me, Yaniah. They didn't do that on purpose. It was an accident. It's okay. Things like that happen. Don't cry!"

The crowd had gathered around them, listening, watching them.

"Go away!" she shrieked at one of them.

"Now, come one, Yaniah, they're not evil. They're just scared," he said in a soothing voice.

"They're dangerous. They're like animals. They'll start fighting again, and then you and me are going to get between them and they'll kill us, like they killed him," she said.

Uhura again spared a glance at Spock who was sitting in the captain's chair, staring at the screen, spellbound, like the rest of the bridge crew. When she saw him nod at the slave girl's statement in agreement, she clamped her mouth shut, in order not to scream.

How could he just sit there? When McCoy had pleaded to not leave him to die in that godforsaken prison, it had twisted everyone's soul. She'd heard the reactions of her comrades, Chekov's, Sulu's, and Scotty's pained moans. But Spock had been silent, and had kept staring at the screen stoically. Even when McCoy had specifically addressed Spock only seconds later - no reaction.

"They don't understand us. They don't _speak_ _a language_! We can't keep them calm!" Yaniah, the Meriahn slave girl, sobbed, burying herself into McCoy's shoulder to hide from the crowd that was edging closer, menacingly.

"Mr Spock, we need to _do_ something!" It was Scotty, coming out of his stupor, addressing Spock.

"Yes! We can't just watch!" Sulu agreed.

"Starfleet Command can't seriously expect us to only stand by," Chekov chimed in.

"Please, Mr Spock! Doctor McCoy doesn't deserve this!" Uhura almost shouted at him.

"Agreed," Spock answered calmly, slightly turning towards her, but never taking his gaze off the screen. "Do you have any suggestions?"

He _does_ care. I know it, Uhura thought. She suddenly felt for him. She knew about Starfleet's orders. She had received them and forwarded them to Spock. Admiral Nogura had not been elaborate. There'd just been a simple: "Don't interfere with Meriahni affairs."

Asshole. What did he expect them to do? Watch? It was torture for _them_, too. She silently thanked God that Kirk wasn't here to watch this, he'd go insane.

"I don't know. We should just take a shuttle and ...," Scotty stopped when there was a new noise coming from the screen.

"_... mem'ries of a song, a song that ... sings of ... Geor-gia, back ...back where ... I ... be-long."_

Uhura closed her eyes. This was becoming too much to bear. McCoy was haltingly singing _Georgia on my mind_ into Yaniah's ear, stopping frequently, catching his breath in between the words, swallowing back tears. It was calming Yaniah _and_ the crowd, but it certainly did nothing to comfort anyone on the bridge.

With a sudden movement, Spock came standing beside her, turning his back to the screen for the first time in what felt like hours.

"Lieutenant, I'll be in my quarters. Be ready to meet me in fifteen minutes."

She nodded, and before she had finished moving her head, Spock had fled the bridge.


	11. Chapter 10

_Prolia Labour Camp - Present_

He dragged his sticky tongue over his brittle lips, trying to alleviate the pain his blistered and chapped lips were causing him, but did not succeed. There was no moisture whatsoever left in his mouth. _Breathe through your nose, to keep your oral mucosa from drying out any further_, he chided himself, but when he closed his mouth and took a deep breath through his nose he immediately had to gag on the foul smell of the thick air laden with the stink of sweat, feces, and decaying bodies.

There was nothing in his stomach to throw up, though, so his body only convulsed in dry heaves that made his already painful headache intensify exruciatingly.

_Dehydration, _his mind uselessly provided, as well as _oxygen depriviation_. The ventilators had been shut off only a few hours ago.

Being killed by one of these violent and primitive brutes suddenly did not seem so unappealing anymore. It was quicker than slowly suffocating on stinking air, or literally drying out.

However, the last fight between the slaves had been hours ago. Yaniah was organizing them, calming them, chiding them when they did something she thought wasn't appropriate behaviour. She reminded him of his primary school teacher, Mrs Brook. _Lenny, it is not nice to chew gum in class! Stop tilting on your chair!_ _Stop hitting your head on the wall! It is not nice to kill the man next to you with a stone. _He laughed mirthlessly. _So, this is where I'll die._

"Lenny?" she asked him, shaking his frame gently, but persistingly.

He only realized he'd dozed off when he looked into her grey, concerned eyes.

"Wha ...? No' 'Bones' anymore?" he asked, forcing his tongue to work properly.

"It was _his_ name for you, so I'm not going to steal it," she said, nodding gravely, as if it mattered.

"Too bad. Then I guess I'm never going to hear it again," he said bitterly.

Her eyes went big. "Why?" she asked frighteningly innocent.

He sighed. "Yaniah, do you really think we'll come out of this alive? We'll die in here. Of thirst. Or we'll suffocate, or we'll die of some disease that is spreading from the dead and decaying cadavers." His voice had become louder with every word until he had finally shouted the last two words at her. _Illogical waste of energy_, he realized. Not only did his headache increase yet another notch, but also did Yaniah not deserve his emotional outbreak.

"You give up?" she asked him, and she sounded reproachful, her eyes were boring into him now.

"Yes," he said matter-of-factly. What was the point of lying to her?

"You mustn't do that, Lenny!" she said. And there she was, all Mrs. Brooks again. "Didn't you tell me you loved Jim?"

"Yes. So? Why are you reminding me?" he asked her petulantly.

"Didn't you also tell me that love is bigger than any of us?" she asked, ignoring his growing impatience and frustration with her and continued to lecture him: "The love you feel for Jim, is bigger than your thirst, your pain. If you give up and die, you'll let it die as well."

"So? Who cares?" he mumbled, suddenly imagining Jim in sickbay, recovering from his head injury with Spock at his side. _As long as Spock is there_, ...

"Jim will care!" she said, looking at him intensely. "How easy it is for you to give up now! What makes you think that Jim will be alright, knowing that you gave your life for him? If you did love him, then you would not give up now. It's selfish."

_My god! I've created a monster,_ he thought, smiling a little. He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. They felt dry as well, as if there was a fine film of sand under his eyelids. "Yaniah, why do _you_ care? Don't get me wrong, I admire you for that. But to me, it's a mystery what keeps you going."

"Love," she said, blushing a light shade of green, "you said it comes unexpectedly. And it did. I love the people of Meriah." She stopped to look at the huddled mass of people around her. "I find comfort in the thought of experiencing something that is greater than my own existence," her voice became more quiet with each sentence until she was whispering: "It frightens me, my own existence. I wasn't used to ... feeling, thinking ... to _being_. It frightens _them_ also."

Her eyes roamed around the room. "Those in charge stole the freedom, the personality, the very thoughts of everyone who is a slave! But _they_ are captives as well. Captives of Meriah's system. They can't break free either, even though they must know about the cruelty of their doings. Delihan tried, but was killed by those he wanted to free. Meriah is a planet of doomed people. They _all_ must learn ... to love. Must learn that there is something that is ... bigger than we are."

McCoy watched Yaniah who had edged closer to him, and who was repeating the words that he himself had said to her only a few hours before, with awe. Their noses were almost touching, while he searched her intelligent eyes for an answer to all of life's questions. Although he had been the one who had planted the idea into her thoughts, she suddenly occured a thousand times wiser than himself.

"How?" he breathed.

There was a loud sound coming from the direction of the mill. A strong wind suddenly came through the open door, that brought in a lot of dust and made McCoy turn against the wall in order to protect his parched eyes.

The sound was familiar, but his brain could not quite identify it. The people in the room scrambled back at the the walls looking at the door, and then making room for a dark figure that was approaching. A bright light was shining through the door, as if from a searchlight.

The person held a flashlight and he could not make out his face. A Meriahni official? Someone who wanted to negotiate?

Yaniah got to her feet when the figure in the room strode towards the controls. A whirring sound suddenly brought recognition for McCoy. It was a tricorder! And the sound from the outside originated from a shuttle engine. The person at the controls was moving in a swift, efficient, controlled and suddenly very familiar way. He recognised him by his movements first, even before he noticed the blue uniform, the accurate haircut and the pointed ears.

"Spock!" he croaked joyously. It seemed unreal. But Spock was there, although he was ignoring him completely.

"You are from the Enterprise?" Yaniah asked the Vulcan who was focussing all of his attention on his tricorder.

The man continued to ignore her and she had to control herself to not reach out and touch him. He was trying to do something important she suspected and shooed a few curious gapers away.

McCoy finally succeded in getting his feet under himand hobbled on stiff legs towards Spock, when the latter suddenly turned around in a quick motion, grabbed McCoy's arm to put it around his neck with one hand while his other arm went around McCoy's waist.

"Doctor, we have no time! Me must leave immediately!" he said evenly to anyone who did not know the Vulcan, but McCoy heard the hint of haunted panic behind the controlled voice, which suddenly brought his heart to his throat.

"What? Spock! What is it?" he asked and instead of working with Spock to get themselves into the waiting shuttle as quickly as possible, he put all of his weight and remaining strength into the task of resisting him.

He didn't quite succeed, Spock still urged him forward, though he stumbled and McCoy felt the Vulcan's hands bruise the flesh on his hip and wrist where Spock was holding him.

"The Meriahn will use the energy field to destroy this prison. In approyimately 2.5 minutes the whole complex will ignite," Spock explained.

Before McCoy could process what he'd said, they were at the shuttle's hatch and Spock was about to push him inside.

McCoy stemmed both his hands against the opening, this time achieving to stop the Vulcan.

He turned his head to find Yaniah close by, looking at him, with an expression of shock on her face.

"Ignite? They're going to destroy this whole complex? Spock! All these people! Can't you ..."

"Doctor! We must leave _now_, or we, you and I, will die!" Spock was actually reasoning with him, but McCoy sensed he was only half a rational thought away from being nerve-pinched to unconsciousness. And Spock was a very rational guy.

So with a desperate movement he ducked away from the shuttle hatch, away from Spock and came to stand beside Yaniah who had assimilated the information Spock had given them already.

"Lenny, you must go!" she said.

"Come with us!" he said, pushing her.

Spock turned, already reaching a hand towards the doctor's neck. There was no time for yet another irrational discussion with the doctor.

McCoy saw it coming, and escaped, still pushing Yaniah, who was resisting him with all her strength.

"Let go of me! I can't leave, just as you couldn't leave Jim! You know why! Now go!"

He stopped, in shock, feeling Spock's hand on his shoulder again, half expecting to pass out, but Spock only drew him away from Yaniah to push him into the shuttle.

"Doctor, Jim needs your help. He's in a deep coma as a result from a severe head trauma," Spock said under his breath, as if it were a secret, and McCoy suddenly felt himself being manhandled into the co-pilot's chair.

He felt the rush of acceleration when the shuttle dashed through the mine's adits. And held his breath as he realized just what they were doing: flying a shuttle through an underground dilithium mine.

Thoughts, pictures, noises and sensations were all jumbled together in a massive confusion that occupied his brain when they were suddenly going up the vertical shaft where the conveyor cage once had been.

The next moment, there was open sky above them and he found a second to breathe as well as to register that his headache had gotten worse.

"Doctor, there's water in the back of the shuttle. I suggest you replenish your fluids," Spock said quietly, grabbing his shoulder and turning him so that he faced the back of the shuttle, and then gave him a gentle but still firm push.

He reluctantly did as Spock had suggested. He was thirsty as hell, but also annoyed by Spock's patronizing manner. He was doctor, for Chrissakes, he knew much better than that arrogant Vulcan that he needed fluids_. Suggest my ass, _he thought, becoming even more irritated.

Steadying himself with one hand on the back wall, he reached for a water container that was stowed away there, when a sudden jolt sent him to the floor and a blazing white light that came through the front screen blinded and momentarily stunned him. Spock had shut it out by deactivating the screen, a fraction of a second later and the shuttle was stabilizing.

"We're experiencing some minor atmospheric turbulances, doctor, I suggest you steady yourself."

Again, McCoy felt exaggeratedly irritated by Spock's remark, e_motional stress, no doubt, _some detached part of his brain provided. He pushed the button to activate the small view screen in the back, out of pure rebelliousness, _I like seeing where I'm going, Spock, and you can't hinder me!_

The blinding brightness was already gone, but what he could see, seemed unreal. A dome of golden light was under them, sparkling and glowing air. It was astonishingly beautiful. Then, droplets of liquid gold were raining down onto the surface as the dome slowly dissolved. Where they touched ground they bathed the area into bright, golden light, that increased in brightness with every drop that was added. _What is that?_

He saw they were putting distance between that place and themselves. He put a hand to his still hurting head, trying to remember the place they were obviously leaving, but he failed, and could not make sense out of the pictures he saw.

The golden light slowly dimmed as they were getting farther away. A flimsy mist of grey started to mingle with it. The mist became thicker and darker, until McCoy finally recognised what it was: smoke. A mushroom of black, thick smoke formed where once that beautiful golden dome had been, it started to consume his whole field of vision as it reached the shuttle that ascended into the atmosphere. _What the ...? A bomb? Who would ...?_

Then, memory came back with a force: the prison camp, thousands of people, slaves. Yaniah. Yaniah who had fallen in love with the people of her planet. _Love is bigger than we are_. He'd told her, and she had believed him. He searched the darkness outside of the shuttle. _That's all that's left of the prison, of Yaniah, and of love. Hot, burning smoke, and ashes._

He banged his head against the screen in anger. Once, then again. But he couldn't feel the pain. Suddenly he realized he'd been holding his breath, and felt as if he was suffocating. With a violent intake of breath, he tried to press air into his lungs. The image of the smoke outside and the dry air in the shuttle caused him to start coughing. Other images began flooding his mind even as he struggled to catch his breath:

Jim, lying still on the concrete floor, not breathing. Delihan reaching out a hand to him, cutting into his mind, making him cough his lungs out. Oh god, his _mind_! The rapist had raped him again, and this time he'd even _begged_ him to do it. Why couldn't he cope now? It had been his own fault, anyway.

He suddenly tasted blood, but had no idea where it came from, the taste of blood, the stink of the stale air in that prison. He couldn't breathe - the smoke! But the smoke was outside, not in here!

Still, it was impossible to draw in a normal breath. He panicked, he knew he was imagining things, but he couldn't stop. His own mind was drawing him into an abyss of smoke, fire and stink from which there was no escape.


	12. Chapter 11

He was trembling. It was strange, but he felt that he was trembling, because of the warm hand on his neck and between his shoulder blades. The heavy, calm and unnaturally warm hand, that was a perfect demonstration of tranquility and repose, was the exact opposite of his shaking frame. He concentrated on the warmth that seeped through the layers of his filthy uniform, into his skin, and then deeper into his taught, and twitching muscles. He became more aware of his surroundings, could hear his own ragged breathing that was repeatedly interrupted by a wretched whimper.

The sound of the shuttle engines had disappeared as had the vibration that usually accompanied it. They had landed somewhere.

"Mr Spock, do you need help?" a voice came over the speaker, unusually loud and too shrill for McCoy's liking. He recognised it as Christine Chapel's voice, however, and wondered what had happened. Usually she sounded differently. And - where were they? In sickbay?

"We are not in any immediate need of assistance, Nurse. However, please stand by. Spock out." Spock's voice was an absolute opposite of Christine's. Low, quiet and calm. He felt himself relax at the sound, just a fraction, but enough to draw in a deeper, but still shaky breath. Again, he heard that whimper, now positive that it was coming from himself.

Spock must have realized that his voice had a calming effect on McCoy, for he had resumed talking in the same tone. It was increasingly comforting, McCoy felt.

Spock's voice, and the warm hand that was now very slowly starting to massage his neck and shoulder were like a bath in warm, perfumy water with mountains of foam floating on the surface.

He let himself explore that image further for it had a tremendously soothing effect on his mind. But the soothing feeling was fleeting, even as he saw the image before his mind's eye. His own body was destroying the artfully sculptured structures of soap, convulsing uncontrollably, causing the water to spill over the brim.

The voice came closer, talking directly into his ear and he felt himself being pulled forward. Although he trusted Spock, he couldn't help but feel the beginning of the crushing panic from before rise up in his chest once again, he felt himself falling. _He's pulling me into that abyss of darkness!_ But the hand on his neck still continued its massage without interruption and he felt Spock's other hand come to rest on the back of his head.

_Oh._

The moment his forehead connected with the side of Spock's neck, and he realized that the Vulcan was actually embracing him, holding him in his arms to comfort him and keep him safe, he began to sob. Immediately he was afraid that Spock would pull back, appalled and shocked by the display of human emotion.

He didn't.

"Don't be afraid! Don't be embarrassed. What you are experiencing is the aftermath of your captivity, lack of sleep and nourishment. It is a normal reaction. The assault on your mind was minute. It did not hurt you as the assault before, although you may believe so, at the moment. Just breathe and trust me. What you did, was very brave and a selfless act. You saved Jim's life. Once again. Please, calm down. You're safe now, we're on the Enterprise, still in the shuttle. There's no one here to hurt you. No one here to see you. Only me, and I'm here to help. You have seen_ me_ when I was troubled and confused and helped me recover. Let me do the same for you. I won't leave you ..." Spock continued with his litany of comforting words, spoken directly into the doctor's ear.

Although McCoy heard them, and even understood their meaning, the content of the words did not mean anything to him. He focussed on the sound, the feeling of Spock's hands on his back and in his hair, the feeling of the small puffs of air on his ear as Spock spoke.

_His breathing is evening out_, Spock realized with satisfaction. He was taking sufficiently deep breaths now, the sounds of distress and torment had stopped, as had the crying. Only the trembling hadn't quite ceased, he could still feel the slight tremors under his fingers that kneaded the doctor's neck and shoulder.

McCoy, swallowed loudly and coughed again. But it wasn't that all-consuming, agonizing cough from earlier.

Spock shifted McCoy, slightly, patting his back with one hand, while the other grabbed the water container to open it single-handedly.

"Doctor, if you allow me to settle you against the wall, I will help you take a sip of water. You must be thirsty," he said, not sure if the doctor comprehended the words.

Obviously McCoy had understood something, for he nodded against his neck, having controlled his cough. He did not move, however.

Slowly and cautiously, as if the doctor were extremely fragile, Spock pulled him away from his chest to settle him gently against the wall.

He ducked his head slightly to catch McCoy's red-rimmed eyes. They were alert, infinetly tired, but alert nonetheless.

Spock held out the container to McCoy who reached for it, and then suddenly greedy, brought it to his mouth.

The first mouthful of gloriously _liquid_ water was like heaven. It soothed his sore throught, moisturized his lips, and brought back some of his spirits.

He paused, taking a breath. Spock was still half holding the container for him, sensing he'd be too weak to do it alone, or fearing that he'd spill most of it. His hands were still shaking.

After another sip and then another, Spock took the water away gently. "You must be careful and not drink too much at the same time," he said evenly.

The irritation he'd felt towards Spock earlier came back suddenly, as well as the splitting headache. Come to think of it, the headache had been there all the time, but other things had been on his mind before. He opened his mouth to give Spock a biting retort along the lines of 'Don't doctor me, you green-blooded quack', but closed it as he noticed Spock's gaze on him. It held genuine concern, even worry, and the wish to help. The dark familiar eyes were so gentle and caring that they completely disarmed him.

He closed his eyes and exhaled through his nose.

"Doctor, are you alright now?" Spock asked quietly.

He flinched at the mentioning of his title. After all these years, Spock still called him 'doctor', as most people did as he had told Yaniah. Yaniah - suddenly images of her screaming as the hellish fire consumed her, vaporized her gentle, loving, only recently found existence. He clenched his eyes shut. _Don't go there._

Spock had asked him a question, he reminded himself. Spock. He had actually _held_ him, patted his back as he cried, his face buried against the back of the Vulcan's neck. There had been no remark about him being irrational, illogical, or appalling.

"Doctor?"

Again, his _title_! He had a _name_, dammit. Spock was one of his closest friends, and -

Icy fear suddenly grabbed him again. Why were they in here _alone_? Just the _two_ of them? Everything suddenly felt entirely wrong, and his trembling started to increase again. His mouth went dry as if he hadn't downed half a liter of water just seconds ago. He looked at Spock with wide eyes and choked on the question: "Where's Jim?"


	13. Chapter 12

Small reference to "The deadly years" (concerning this whole code 2 thing)

Still no end in sight! (which is making me kind of nervous)

Merry Christmas to all who have found this chapter and are reading it.

_Enterprise - Present_

Uhura stood at sickbay's entrance, shyly watching the only three occupants of sickbay and feeling like an intruder. She had an important message for Spock who was currently in command of the Enterprise, although he hadn't shown himself on the bridge since arriving back from Meriah Five. It was very atypical behaviour for their Vulcan first officer, whose sense of duty exceeded that of everyone else she knew, even that of Captain Kirk himself.

Spock had given the order to return to Starbase Three at maximum warp, and had informed her that he'd be in sickbay should he be needed. Well, she supposed he was needed _here_ more than on the bridge. Scotty was more than qualified to command the ship back to a starbase, although he hadn't stopped cursing under his breath ever since they had all watched the Prolia Prison Complex being consumed in a mushroom cloud of burning ash. Enterprise's small shuttle had almost been swallowed by it along with its two occupants. The thousands of poor slaves hadn't been that lucky.

She felt her emotions well up inside her again. Everyone on the bridge had sympathised with these abused souls. She could only begin to imagine how it must have been for the empathetic doctor.

McCoy was lying on a sickbay bed, just to the left of the captain. Spock was sitting on one of the uncomfortable sickbay chairs between the two beds, staring in front of himself.

She stepped cautiously towards him, clearing her throat to make herself heard.

"Lieutenant?" Spock asked a second later.

"Mr Spock," she stopped, watching the sleeping form of Dr McCoy. He portrayed the opposite of the captain's still, wan form. His eyes were also closed, but his whole body was trembling, his face was flushed, as if with fever, his breathing was harsh and irregular.

"What's wrong?" she asked, suddenly afraid for the doctor.

"I think you know what's wrong," Spock told her and there was clear and unsupressed irritation in his voice. He seemed to have noticed it too, for he cleared his throat and then repeated: "What do you want, Lieutenant?"

She swallowed. It was heartbreaking to see the normally calm and self-reliant Vulcan first officer looking so ... lost.

"The orders of Starfleet Command ...," she began.

"I will lay down my command, if that's what they demand," he said.

She forced herself to smile. "No, it's nothing like that, Mr Spock. I meant the orders we received earlier, that said we should not intefere with Meriahni affairs."

"Yes?"

"I am sorry that I didn't notice it earlier, sir," she apologized uneasily, "they were coded, as usual. But it was code two."

At the time she hadn't given it much thought.

"The code the Romulans are familiar with?" To Uhura's relief, Spock had raised an eyebrow at her information. At least he was showing _some_ of his usual behaviour.

"I tried to trace the source from which the information was sent. Again, I am sorry I did not think about doing it before."

"Although that _is_ unfortunate, I don't think your feelings of regret and guilt help us anything in our current situation. I take it the message was sent from the surface of Meriah Five?" Spock speculated.

Uhura almost smiled triumphantly. She knew the reason for the captain and the doctor to have gone to the prison complex was to gather information on the whereabouts of the Romulan Commander Tamulok. The outcome of that mission had been disastrous. Not only hadn't they got any information, but Captain Kirk and Doctor McCoy had ended up in sickbay severly injured. Their potential informant was dead, as were thousands of innocent Meriahn. Also, the relationship between the Federation and Meriah had been damaged. To top it off, Spock had consciously disregarded a direct order from Starfleet Command, which would certainly result in Spock being court-martialed. For the past two and a half hours Uhura had worked feverishly on a hunch to improve their dire situation. Well, if she had paid more attention to the incoming messages, then she would have found out right away that the commands hadn't been sent by Starfleet.

Code two was technically still in use, although the Romulans had cracked it. That the last commands they'd received had been encoded with this code had only seemed a bit odd to her, but she hadn't made the connection then. However, now, she'd not only found out that Spock had only disregarded fake orders, but also she had been able to trace back the message to its source, which most probably had been sent by Commander Tamulok himself. All they had to do was scan the area where the signal had come from, and they'd find him. Her timing had been everything else than excellent, however.

"No. The signal was sent from a ship somewhere in sector Z6. I could even identify it as the Trill merchant ship Tamulok stole to escape in."

Spock's features did not change, nor did his tone when he said: "It seems likely that you located Commander Tamulok then. Do our sensors register the Trill ship?"

"No. But we should know where to look for it."

Spock shook his head at her to make himself understood. "We cannot afford to waste any more time to get to the starbase and the medical facilities there. Captain Kirk needs neurosurgery, that our medical department cannot provide at the moment, Lieutenant. Did you inform Starbase 3?"

Uhura flinched at the tone. Of course she had informed the starbase. "Of course, sir. They are awaiting us."

"Good. Then inform Starfleet Command about where you suspect Commander Tamulok. They can direct another ship into that area to search for the Romulan," Spock said and stood to guide her a few meters towards the exit.

Uhura followed him and nodded. "I will, sir. But I know that we are currently the only ship close enough to reach Tamulok before he enters the Neutral Zone again." Of course, this was again her fault. Had she found Tamulok's ship sooner ...

"We do not know where he is heading, Lieutenant. He may not have the desire to return to Romulus just yet, or even at all. We _do_ know, however, that Captain Kirk needs medical attention, and that neither Dr Taylor nor Dr McCoy are currently able to help him, considering their own state of exhaustion."

Uhura waited, sensing with surprise that Spock had something else to say and was struggling to do so, looking seemingly blankly at the wall behind her.

His expression hardened a fraction. "Dr Pulliam was suspended from duty, for her refusal to follow my orders and to treat Captain Kirk," he said, "however, given the current situation I thought it necessary to ask for her help, and therefore, I apologized to her."

Uhura gasped. Spock had apologized to that bitch? She could understand that people reacted testily

towards the Vulcan's sometimes cold and ruthless, though never unjustified, critique, but Pulliam had done the unthinkable. She had refused to do her job and risked the captain's life as a result. She was a doctor, and as such she had once sworn an oath! She must have gone totally insane, and she was probably not the right person to operate on the captain, anyway, considering her age.

"I cannot understand her behaviour, Mr Spock. She's a disgrace to Starfleet and her profession."

"She was a skilled and promising medical officer, but highly emotional."

"She is more than just "highly emotional". She is unsuitable to serve on a starship, and unsuitable to be a doctor."

"_I_ may be ... ," Spock stopped to choose his words, "unsuitable to deal with these kinds of problems. I believe the death of Dr Pulliam's sister by the hand of the Vulcan crew aboard her ship, the P'Jem, made her project her hate on every Vulcan. She wants to hurt me by _not_ helping Captain Kirk. That of course is assuming that I _can_ be emotionally "hurt"," he said more to the wall than to her, and suddenly Uhura wasn't sure if he was still aware of her. It frightened her to see Spock so absent minded.

"But it does hurt you, doesn't it Spock?" a whispered, shaky voice said.

Uhura looked over Spock's shoulder to see McCoy sitting slumped on the bed, staring at the same wall Spock was looking at. It had a mirror on it, Uhura now realized. This past minute, Spock had in fact, spoken to McCoy and not her? She blushed, not knowing what to do. She mumbled an excuse and was out of sickbay in record time.

o0o

McCoy got up to stand beside Jim's bed, and study the monitor at its head. He did not like what he saw. It was clear that Jim needed surgery, and soon, too.

Spock observed in the mirror how the doctor let himself fall on the chair that he himself had occupied just minutes before. McCoy held his hands in front of him, seeing they were shaking uncontrollably. With a small sound of frustration he balled them into fists and hit them against his forehead. Then he got up and walked to stand behind Spock.

"And you just stand there?" he asked, not furiously as Spock would have expected, but calm and almost indifferently. The tone of the doctor's voice made Spock turn around to face him.

"What would you have me do, doctor?" he said, dangerously close to raising his voice, he realized with alarm.

"Well. use logic!" he said, not mockingly, even though Spock felt it would have been adequate.

Spock willed himself to sound as calm as ever. And succeeded: "When the captain was brought in, Dr. Taylor said the operation did not lie in his field of expertise and he'd only operate, if given no choice. We have now reached this point. However, Dr Taylor hasn't had much sleep in the past hours, so the chances of the captain to ever regain consciousness are less than they were before. Dr Pulliam is rested, but neither qualified nor willing to perform the operation or to only assist. We cannot reach Starbase Three in the critical time, nor is any other medical facility in reach of the Enterprise."

McCoy noticed at once that Spock left out some crucial information and wondered if the Vulcan was showing symptoms of being considerate and sensitive, which suddenly angered him. He could take it! "What about me?" he prompted.

Spock turned to McCoy and the Vulcan's dark eyes suddenly seemed to look right into his soul, with an intensity that hurt.

"When I decided to lead a rescue mission to save your life, I may have sealed Jim's fate. Too much time has passed and now we are not able to reach the Starbase in time. I knew this could happen, although I also calculated the possibility that once you were on board, you would be able to save Jim's life. Therefore, I believed it was only logical to attempt to rescue you. When I saw what you experienced in the Prolia prison complex and especially the longer you were there, the more likely it became that you would need considerable time to recover and would be unable to perform the needed surgery until then. The critical point was reached when you started to sing "Georgia on my mind" to Yaniah. It was clear then, that you were emotionally and mentally too affected to be able to perform such a delicate surgery on Captain Kirk within the needed time. If I had given the order to leave just then, we would have had just enough time to reach the starbase. However, I did not do that for reasons I cannot explain."

McCoy stared at the Vulcan in astonishment, unable to say anything around the onslaught of guilt, pain, shock and disbelief at Spock's words that seemed to have manifested itself in his throat.

"I'm sure you find this all very fascinating in your own, unique, irrationally emotional thinking and that you will dwell on this revelation, for years to come."

McCoy found his voice again: "What revelation? That you are capable of compassion?"

"I meant that I value _your_ life more than the captain's!"

McCoy blanched and stumbled back. The shaking had become more profound now, he was feeling dizzy. Spock was Jim's first officer and friend. He was absolutely loyal to _Jim_, and McCoy had always assumed that Spock tolerated him, McCoy, even "cared" for him in an awkward and warped sense, only for _Jim's_ sake.

Was it true, what Spock had said? Or was it just a confused, exhausted Vulcan's mind coming to a seemingly logical conclusion? _Why did Spock save me? Why didn't he save Jim? Is Jim_ _really going to die because Spock decided that I should live? _

He sat down on the chair again, watching Kirk's chest slowly rise and fall. He felt the Vulcan near him but did not look up.

"Spock, stop this nonsense! Please, I meant what I said. Use logic! I'm unable to perform surgery, yes. I'm unable because I'm shaking like a junkie in withdrawal. It's post traumatic stress, or whatever you wanna call it. There are drugs I could take to make me stop shaking like this, but they wouldn't make me functional for neurosurgery. All I really need, is to pull myself together, but I lack the emotional and mental discipline. I can't do it. _I'm_ only human, and my emotions seem to have taken complete control over my body," he said, laughing bitterly, watching his hands still shake, despite his efforts to hold them still.

"Not complete control. Your argumentation is quite sound," Spock said quietly. He was beginning to understand what the doctor was suggesting, but not sure if it was acceptable.

"Then you know what to do!" he said, looking up at the Vulcan, with hopeful but also fearful eyes.

Spock's hand came down on his shoulder and McCoy yelped slightly in response. He cursed his fear, and for the first time in his life he also cursed Spock's emotions. Emotions that he knew were flooding the Vulcan at this very moment, making his decision harder.

"Every mind meld produces certain risks. If one of the involved parties is emotionally worn out and physically exhausted, the risk is even greater. If both parties are, then it is not recommended at all."

McCoy blinked. Did Spock just admit he was emotionally worn out? "We've done it before. And it worked, although I wasn't exactly emotionally balanced at that moment." Another cold shudder went through him as he remembered the horrific images that had flashed before his mind's eye when he'd remembered what Delihan had done to him.

"You were suffering from a mind rape and were hallucinating, seeing things that were unreal, that were making you act irrationally to the point where you were a danger to yourself and others," Spock said simply. His hand was still lying heavily on his shoulder, which was not exactly comforting, for it only showed him how his own shoulders were trembling. "At that point, there was not much I could have done to worsen the situation," Spock continued.

McCoy closed his eyes at the statement. What Spock had said was true, although he hadn't expected Spock to have shared his opinion then. For all he knew, he could have died during Spock's meld then, but he'd figured that it was better to be dead than insane.

"So, you're saying you refuse?" McCoy asked the Vulcan as he finally looked up at him.

Spock was expecting it, for he found his eyes the instant he'd looked up. They were not as compassionate as McCoy had expected, though. In a way it was a relief.

Spock straightened, and his eyes left him to look over his head, his hand still on his shoulder, making him uncomfortable now. "Doctor, you should attempt to rest. I will be on the bridge, we must find Commander Tamulok's ship."

McCoy felt irritation well up inside him.

"What! Spock, your main concern is Jim's life right now! Leave that Romulan alone! We can't afford to waste any time!"

"Doctor, it is impossible to arrive at the starbase in time to save the captain. Therefore, we can just as well follow the Trill ship! As I recall, it was our mission to find the Romulan commander. Maybe you will agree when I say: The captain should not have died for no reason," Spock said coldly.

McCoy's mouth opened and closed again. Where had that sudden change of subject come from? He'd tried to get Spock to discuss the possibility of a meld with him, but now, Spock spoke of Jim as if he was already dead. "So, you've accepted Jim's death? He is not dead yet, Spock! _He_ wouldn't have given up on _you _like that, you cold, green-blooded ...!"

McCoy was unable to finish his sentence, for Spock's hand on his shoulder and neck had suddenly contracted and as if from a sudden electric shock, he lost consciousness, falling into Spock's waiting arms.

The Vulcan laid him back on the biobed. "Rage and fury produce less risk during a meld than fear, doctor," he said to the unconscious form. Then, without further ado, he gently pressed his hand on the meld points on the doctor's face, willing himself to calm both of them.


	14. Chapter 13

Poor Bones, I needed to end this story for him. Don't really know why I like hurting him so much, but I feel bad for it.

I can't write accents (as you may have noticed by now). So, think Scotty's accent when you read his dialogue.

Thanks to all my interested readers and reviewers!

oo0oo

_Enterprise's rec room - in the middle of the night_

Scotty walked hesitantly over to McCoy, holding onto his cup of steaming, hot tea for reassurance. He knew the doctor could be downright nasty when not in the mood for company, and although he was in the rec room, a place where people usually went to engage in socializing, Scotty had heard from Chekov and Sulu, that the doctor was, in fact, _not_ in the mood for company, _at all_.

They were alone, everyone was either working or sleeping. When Spock had finally come onto the bridge to relieve him, he'd been truly relieved, in more than on sense. Spock had informed them, that McCoy was operating on the captain. It meant not only that Captain Kirk was finally getting help, it also meant, that McCoy was fit enough to operate. How that was possible, Scotty had no idea, though. _No one_ could walk away from an experience like that without being seriously affected. But somehow, after only a few hours of rest in sickbay, McCoy had gotten himself under such control again, that he'd found himself able to do brain surgery on Captain Kirk.

And he'd done it, done his medical magic, as Scotty had found out after tossing and turning on his bed in his quarters for a few hours, unable to get any sleep. The surgery had been successful, Captain Kirk was due to awake from his coma within the next hours. _Everything was great_.

Scott doubted that. Not, that McCoy had managed to save the captain, but that he'd come through these past days, _weeks_, actually with nothing more than a cantakerous mood.

"Hey, Leonard, may I sit down?" he asked already taking a chair.

McCoy grunted, then said in a voice, dripping with sarcasm: "Please, I'm in the mood for talking."

Scotty snorted and made a show of taking a sip of his chamomile tea. He actually hated that stuff, but had chosen it, because there hadn't been anything else, which reminded him of why he never went to the rec room at night.

"Scotty, I'm tired," McCoy said when the engineer had put down his cup again.

"Why don't you go to your quarters to get some sleep, then?" he asked.

"Been there, done that," McCoy mumbled.

Scotty looked at his fingernails. "Yeah, me too. Couldn't sleep, couldn't stop my brain from reeling, thinking. You know what I did to calm myself?"

Scotty waited, an expectant smile on his lips, but McCoy didn't respond according to social convention. "Go away, Scotty!" he just said, after a lenghty pause.

Scotty didn't give up that easily, though. "I can't do that. I'm worried about you, Leonard!"

"Why? I'm sitting here, in the rec room, engaging in ... recreation. Or I _would_ if _you_ weren't here."

"Well, you have developed a strange understanding of what recreation is."

"Scotty, I appreciate what you're trying to do. _But_ I want to be alone. How did you even find me?" He paused as he remembered something. "Chekov and Sulu, right? They found me here."

"Aye. You know, if you want to be alone, why are you not in your quarters?"

"Because_ ..._ Look, my quarters are not ...," he shifted uncomfortably on the chair and ran a hand through his hair. Then he looked at Scotty again, searching for words, or courage. "Okay, I'm going to tell you, but will you then leave me alone?"

Scotty shrugged, not quite willing to give that promise, but McCoy went on talking anyway, speaking in a rush, as if suddenly afraid he wouldn't have enough time to say what he wanted to say.

"I went to my quarters, lay down, tried to sleep and couldn't. No surprise there. So I got up and looked for the container with those red sleeping pills I keep in my private medicine cabinet."

Scott nodded. He'd never asked for any of these pills, he preferred a good glass of scotch, or wandering around the engine room, listening to the humming of the warp drive, to calm himself down enough to get some sleep, but he'd heard the captain, Uhura, even Sulu talk about these ominous "red pills". Potent stuff, they were.

"Well, I ... found them," he stopped.

Scott waited, and when McCoy did not give any indication of going on, he asked, raising his eyebrows: "_That_ was the end of your story?"

"I opened the lid, took out a pill, popped it into my mouth, drank a glass of water, then took another."

Scotty frowned, he was beginning to dread the end of this story. "And?"

"Still couldn't sleep. I always had to think about ... I don't know, it's the adrenalin, or whatever. I also took some stimulants before the operation on Jim."

Scott waited. He had a feeling that McCoy hadn't told him everything. But after a while, the doctor just looked up, deciding that that was the end of it.

"So now you know. There are too many enzymes, hormones and chemicals in my system to make me able to sleep. I wanted to walk around a bit, but I kept meeting people. You have no idea how _crowded_ the corridors of this ship are, even in the middle of the night!"

The change of subject had been smooth, and Scott didn't even notice he'd been successfully redirected to another topic, one that clealry had nothing to do with McCoy and his sleeping problems.

He blindly swallowed the bait and piped up: "You know, that _is_ strange. When I walk through these corridors on a normal day, I always see these crowds of people, running around busily in the corridors. What are they _doing_? Don't they ever have to _be_ anywhere, like, _stationary_?"

McCoy took the opportunity to get up. He graced Scott with a wan smile that never reached his eyes and said curtly: "Thanks Scotty, I'll be in my quarters."

And before Scotty could untangle himself from the cup of still steaming tea, McCoy had houdinied his way out the room and the conversation.

o0o

The door opened to reveal his quarters to be as he had left them. Actually, he wouldn't have been able to tell if any things, clothes or furniture had been moved during his absence, but he knew for sure, that the container of red pills that lay on the floor had been lying there when he'd fled. The lid was only half open, but the pills had mostly rolled out, forming a little pile on the floor.

He cautiously stepped around it and sat down on his bed, wondering what to do next.

He was _very_ tired, but sleeping was not an option. Even closing his eyes produced a problem. He'd feel hands on him that weren't there, hear noises, even voices coming from the ceiling, the walls, even the floor. And he'd dream. Something, that he really didn't want to do.

_Your hallucinations are a sign of sleep-depriviation. You're only making it worse by not sleeping, _a fairly reasonable voice in his head told him.

A shudder went through him and when he held up his hands for inspection, he found that they were perfectly still. They seemed like someone else's, too clean, too calm to be his.

_They're like Spock's hands_, he thought. In a way, they _were_. Spock had tricked him into a mind meld, and _forced_ him to calm enough to have control over his hands. Hands he'd needed desperately to do his job. He was glad Spock had done it.

But he was also irritated, irritated with himself that Spock had been able to deceive him like that, to trick him into believing that Spock would declare Jim dead, pre-maturely.

"I thought that Vulcans couldn't lie!" he muttered and dragged his hands through his hair again. scraping his head in the process. His scalp felt raw already, and when he looked at his hands afterwards, he saw there was some blood under his fingernails.

What had that Vulcan thought? Not only did he use to pride himself of never lying, but he had also always emphasized that forcing mind melds on people was a crime. And now Spock had done both - to him.

Of course, Spock hadn't exactly forced him. Just manipulated him. Quite effectively, too. Spock had explained that rage was a feeling that produced less risk when initiating a mind meld than fear, or something like that. As if Spock knew _anything_ about feelings.

He started nibbling at his fingernails, to get them clean again.

"Love? _How_ does it _feel_?" he heard Yaniah say from somewhere near the door.

"YOU ARE NOT HERE!" he shouted back, but still, as if to check, he sprung up, and rushed into the direction of the voice.

_My God, you're truly starting to behave like a madman, now, _he thought.

_Sleep! _his head said.

He'd already taken two sleeping pills, which was not exactly an overdose, but not recommended, and he _still_ couldn't sleep.

_Take one more! _the voice in his head said again. It was the same voice that had said: _Take them all_, from which McCoy had fled before. It had been a highly illogical action of course, since that voice was going to follow him wherever he went. It was in his _head_! It was just a thought, a fantasy, an idea, a joke. It didn't mean he'd ever do it. How many times had he thought he'd bite Spock's ears off the next time he was going to say _"Fascinating!"_ ?

But still, _that_ thought had _never_ come to him before, and it had scared him deeply. He still couldn't bring himself to touch those pills and put them back into their container.

Maybe he should go to sickbay? Jim should be awake by now. But he feared Jim would start asking questions, make him "open up" and "talk". And maybe Spock was there, too. Spock would give Jim the information he'd deliberately leave out.

He wouldn't be able to get any sleep there either, he'd only keep Jim from it, too.

The door chime pulled him out of his gloomy thoughts.

_Who the hell? _

It chimed again. He did nothing. _Scotty? Maybe he's just checking if I didn't get lost in the mysterious corridors of our ship. _

He kicked at the empty container with his foot. It landed somewhere out of sight, but the pile of pills stayed were it had been. _Better not let him come in_, he thought, going to the door, opening it.

Jim Kirk was standing before him, in his sickbay overall, looking a bit pale, but smiling at him, that 1000 Watt smile that could melt icebergs, bring children to offer him their last candy, and charm nuns into smooching away with him. The white dressing on his surgical wound made him resemble a fakir from a picture book McCoy had possessed as a child, but he stood on his own two feet, only lightly leaning on the doorframe.

"What in ... JIM! Are you out of your mind?" McCoy quickly abandoned his plan from earlier and grabbed at Kirk to guide him into his room and onto a chair, his bed, anything.

"Hi Bones!" Kirk said, still smiling and allowing himself to be guided to the bed. "What do you mean? You know how much I hate sickbay ..."

As Jim was sitting, McCoy took the time to take a look at the dressing on Jim's head while preaching.

"So you decided to take a hike? Jim, you've been in a coma for 3 days! I just operated on you, and you thank me with running around the ship like that?" He paused to take a breath, but intended to go on chewing out his friend and _patient_, for God's sake, for his little stunt, but was stopped by a hand on his arm that pulled him down onto the bed beside Jim, with surprising strength.

"Bones. I. Hate. Being. In. Sickbay," Jim said, looking at him as if he was explaining something to a kid. A very dumb kid, too.

Then he pulled up his legs, kicked the sickbay slippers on his feet on the floor, and stretched out on McCoy's bed, pushing some clutter on the floor as well. "I can only stand sickbay when _you_'re there. Since you aren't there, but here, I thought, well, wouldn't it be perfect, if _I_ came _here_?"

"No! Jim, you need to be monitored by, ... Who let you out?" he suddenly asked, determined to get that someone's ass.

"I'm the captain. I can go when and wherever I want," Jim said, unfolding the blanket on the bed and making a move to wrap himself in it. "You have a second blanket?" he asked suddenly, looking up at his friend and doctor, questioningly.

"Yeah," McCoy said and turned quickly to take another blanket from a drawer. He unfolded it and started to spread it over Jim's form. "You cold? It could be from the loss of ..."

Jim's arms went up to fend off the second blanket. "No, no, nothing like that, Bones. I'm just _not_ going to share my blanket with you."

"Share your ...? Jim, you are not intending to stay here for the night?"

"Oh, but I am," Kirk simply said, closing his eyes.

"Jim! You, ... I can't, ...," he stammered, not really knowing what was happening. His doctor's mode was taking over. "There can be post surgery complications. Your status must be checked every two hours! That is pupillary reflex, blood pressure, ..."

"I know. And I also know, you're too tired to wake up every two hours to do that. So, I asked someone to do that _for_ you."

As if on cue, the door chime sounded again. "Someone?" McCoy asked, dreading the answer.

"Right. Come in, Spock!" Kirk said, supressing a smile.

The Vulcan was carrying a bag, and stopped right behind the door.

McCoy snorted. "Did you bring sweets, stuffed animals, and a book of ghost stories, Spock?"

"Why would I bring ...," Spock started, but Kirk cut him off: "A sleepover, Spock. Young, human girls love to do that."

Spock raised an eyebrow, but decided not to comment. "I brought some medical instruments from sickbay, and a PADD with a novel which I will read in between the intervals of checking your vitals, Captain."

"And when are _you_ going to sleep?" McCoy tried, already suspecting that he had no chance to get rid of either Spock or Kirk for the night.

"I don't require as much sleep as you humans do, doctor," Spock said, seeking out McCoy's desk chair, and starting to unpack his things.

McCoy sighed. He could trust Spock with Kirk's health, he knew that. Even though Spock wasn't a doctor, he could do the required monitoring just as well as any of the staff in sickbay.

Jim smiled gently, tapping on the mattress right beside him.

"Get in Bones! Don't keep me from my much needed sleep!"

McCoy hesitated. He _couldn't_ sleep. It was not that he hadn't tried. But Jim was persistent, he was even plumping up the pillow for him.

"This is ridiculous, Jim," he said, taking a step towards the bed.

Jim looked at him with a strange expression on his face. He was thinking. After a few seconds he said quietly: "Please, Bones. I can't sleep in sickbay. I know it sounds ridiculous, but I really don't want to be alone with myself and my thoughts at the moment. I know I may have nightmares. I may talk in my sleep, I may even kick, or scream, or cry. I've been through a horrible ordeal and I just need some reassurance that everything's alright. Is it too much to ask from a friend, a really good friend, too?"

McCoy drew in a sharp breath, as he felt tears suddenly threatening. He knew Jim had done the talking for him, had said what he, Leonard 'Bones' McCoy, should have said, because Jim knew that he would never let those words come over his lips

"I ...," he started, but didn't end that sentence, for Jim interrupted him.

"Now, come on!" he urged. It was all it took to let Bones allow himself to walk over to his own bed, where he'd tried to sleep four hours and two sleeping pills ago, finding that it was impossible. That bed was now occupied by his best friend, who had just come out of a coma and brain surgery, and was probably still not in his right mind.

He settled down beside him, taking the blanket Jim offered, wrapping himself into it.

He felt the bed shift and Jim's arm came to rest on top of his, his hand sought out his and their fingers interlaced. It felt warm, solid and reassuring, but awkward, and embarassing as well, just a bit. It would, of course, be a bit awkward to explain this to the sickbay staff, or the rest of the crew, McCoy thought.

Rumours tended to spread quickly on the Enterprise. Maybe it had something to do with the many people who were walking around in the corridors all the time, he thought, and found himself drifting.

Sleep claimed him even before Jim had whispered 'Sleep well, Bones'.

o0o

Two hours later, Kirk woke from a gentle shake.

"It's time to check your pupillary reflexes, Captain," Spock said calmy, holding a little flashlight.

Kirk nodded and turned to his first officer to let him play nurse on him.

"Everything is normal," Spock reported when he had finished and started turning away.

Kirk's hand held him back. "Spock, how is he?" he asked, anxiously.

McCoy was sleeping peacefully beside him, his hand had relaxed, letting Jim's hand go after only a few minutes. His breathing was regular, but Jim felt that this peace was very fragile. He didn't want to move too much or talk too loud, afraid, he'd somehow destroy it.

"The doctor is sleeping deeply. The sleeping pills must have finally taken effect," Spock answered calmly.

Kirk exhaled shakily, he had to ask: "Did you also see the spilled pills and the container on the floor?"

"I've retrieved them," Spock said.

There was a moment of silence between them, before Spock continued: "I also counted them."

Kirk bit his lip.

"I found thirty-nine, but there still might be some on the floor. The label on the container said there were 50 in it. I believe he had these pills for all of our five year-mission, and never purchased a new container."

"Right," Kirk agreed, "he told me only months ago, that before the end of our five year mission he wanted to stop by that pharmacist on Legia again, where he'd gotten them. I didn't know he still had so many, though. I must've taken at least 5 of them alone, over the years."

"Jim, he is emotionally and physically worn out, but I believe even in that state, Dr McCoy would never attempt anything like ..." There was no need to finish the sentence, since Kirk knew what he meant.

"No," Kirk agreed, "but he's _not_ okay."

"Maybe not now. But he _will_ be, Jim."

McCoy made a soft noise, twitching. Jim's hand searched for his friend's hand again, finding it and squeezing slightly.

"Yeah, I'll see to that."

Endooo000


End file.
